


Goalie Things

by Nadler



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2015-2016 NHL Season, Goalies, M/M, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Timers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 18:31:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10724847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadler/pseuds/Nadler
Summary: Fewer hockey players have Timers than most of the population, but that’s still a lot of guys. There’s a timeline for things. You play hockey, meet someone, have kids, retire, play in alumni games. It’s nice to know that there’ll be time outside of hockey. They’re athletes. It’s one thing to count down to the draft, another to count down to something that can last longer than hockey does.Some of them want that sort of thing.Kari doesn't know what he wants, but he might as well give it a shot.





	Goalie Things

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, uh. I have no excuse for this. Here is a soulmate AU.
> 
> Also, here is the messy [primer.](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1FDGZaGeI4ZUllvftjGlJl2HrzkRXHv8f6upL5_jVlBw/edit?usp=sharing)

Before the season ends, Kari thinks about it. He does some soul-searching. What Kari knows: He’s old (for a hockey player). He’s alone (mostly, when he isn’t around twenty guys in a locker room). Something should change, but Kari doesn’t know what. 

Mostly, he’s lonely. 

Dating shouldn't be as hard as it's been for someone like him; it should be easy. He's rich, semi-famous (in Dallas, anyway), and an athlete. It's enough to get more than a few dates, but he's never found anything in common with any of them. 

A lot of guys marry their high school sweethearts. They avoid this problem. It's probably wise. Kari doesn’t have a childhood sweetheart, and barring finding a time machine, it's not going to work. It certainly seems easier--to grow up together. To be sure that she'll stick by you though everything, even hockey. Nowadays, guys might even get matching Timers a couple years into their ELCs before they settle down for good, but they're sure, either way.

Kari wouldn’t have gotten a Timer when they first came out in Finland. Kari thought about getting one, a little, when he got drafted, but he was young. He didn’t need a promise of someone out there. The fans were enough, even though he can admit the Thrashers were a terrible team now. Maybe, he considers, it would have been better to get a Timer than to get out of shape, during that big slump, but he didn’t know as much as he does now.

The team was enough, mostly. Hockey was enough. Being young was enough. 

Now, Kari has the weight and disappointment of a whole team’s worth of losses. A night he takes off is a loss, and he knows it. The Stars don’t make the postseason, and their last taste of the playoffs stings, bitter and prickly. They've got nothing to show for it--well, almost.

Jamie wins an ugly trophy, and it's not the ugly trophy he wanted. 

Kari's never been fond of golf.

 

On clean-out day, Kari looks around the room, and he suddenly realizes that he’s always been the goalie to them. He’s one of the older guys, who’s been in this room year-in and year-out. But unlike the others, this is only his second team, one who wanted him and wants to keep him. He’s not sure that either Goose or Fiddler are coming back, but they’re nice guys, who’ve inducted Spezza into the Old Married Guys Who Need Babysitters Club.

Kari banishes that thought. No one needs to think about who’s going to get traded. He’d go crazy that way. He forces a smile at the reporters, but everyone knows that their hearts aren’t really into it now. The media heads for the captain, first, but they’ll get around to Kari eventually. 

Well, Kari thinks, there’s always Trevor. He’s a constant. He even has a smile on his face.

“Kari, can you believe it,” Trevor says to him, checking to make sure Jamie’s out of earshot. He shakes his head. “Kid wins a trophy he deserves, and he cries.” 

“Jamie’s-“ Kari shrugs. “He’s our captain, but he’s young.” That says enough. Kari can’t help but wonder how Trevor’s done it, kept his hope all these years. Kari wonders if he ever thinks back and misses the team he started out with, not the one they ended up being. 

Trevor taps Kari twice on the shoulder. He’s been doing that for a long time, too. “Next year, huh? I feel it. Don’t you?” 

Kari doesn’t know if he believes when he answers, “I feel it, Dales. I’ll be ready.” 

“Attaboy.” Trevor pats him again before he gets up and leaves Kari with his own thoughts. 

Kari catches Joonas Enroth slipping out, and he even thinks it’s stealthy for how much gear a goalie has to cart out. No one wants to talk to him. They’re not going to see much of him. Barring him striking out with everyone else, Joonas isn’t coming back; they all knew that.

Kari always tries to talk to his backups, too, but none of them have been his friends in Dallas--they’re young guys, and Kari’s not old enough to be a mentor, not old enough and not playing badly enough that he’s still not a competitor and an obstacle. There'll be others. 

He'll still be here.

* * *

In the summer, Jim Nill trades Trevor and Ryan Garbutt for Patrick Sharp. 

It's a shock; no one saw this coming. Dallas practically brought Trevor up; they drafted him, and he's been there ever since. It's a sobering thought that anyone of them could go, even more than when they traded Mini Mo to Pittsburgh. Kari sends a text, _I'll miss you, Dales_ but he doesn't expect Trevor to answer. He must be busy trying to figure out what's going to happen next. 

Kari knows he's not supposed to read his own press, especially since he's a goalie and everyone will always, always blame him for every mistake he makes and some he doesn't. If _Trevor_ can go, so can he. It's a sobering thought. Kari knows all his criticism, all the murmurings that he's fallen so far from being the prodigy that he used to be. What's saving him is that the Stars have no one better. 

There's a reply: _Thanks, Kari. I'll miss you, too._ Kari swallows a lump in his throat. He wonders, a little, if anyone else will miss him, if he leaves Dallas. 

He's just a goalie. Finnish goalies are a little bit lonely, a little reserved from everyone else. It's what Kari is; it might be all Kari is. 

* * *

Kari cannot remember the exact moment he decides to get a Timer, but it goes something like this: he sticks to his summer training schedule and realizes that he’s alone. There are concrete things. He needs a new skating regime. He can’t take three weeks off and then get back onto the ice at training camp anymore.

Kari’s also sick and tired of the annual groin injury, a glaring reminder of his mortality. 

Mostly, Kari needs a distraction. There’s a hollow between workouts and tentative fishing plans with some other hockey guys. He can’t eat his feelings of dread. His career survived an unhealthy food binge before, but it won’t again. Most people in this situation would get a dog or a cat, but Kari is-well, he’s past thirty and is on the road a lot. The poor thing would spend most of its time with a petsitter, and that’s not what Kari wants in a pet. 

The Timer takes more forms than he expected. There’s enough fine print to make his eyes glaze over. A part of Kari wants to call his agent to look over this and read it all. That would be weird, though, so he just squints at the screen. The Timer person reads off his stats before Kari signs off on it again. Kari’s used to those being height, weight, glove hand, save percentage, but a stats sheet is a stats sheet. It’s not that different.

“Okay, we’re ready,” the technician says, beaming at him in that red uniform. She readies something that looks almost like a staple gun. Kari doesn’t think he wants to call them matchmakers. They don’t do anything but press a button.

Kari looks away when she presses it against his skin. He inhales. It pricks, but Kari’s used to having pucks shot at him. He exhales. At what moment should he look down? His heart beats faster. The number could be anything. Or, he thinks, nothing but dashes.

“Congratulations, you don’t have to wait long.” The girl smiles at him with some very white teeth. It breaks Kari out of his thoughts.

Kari looks down at his wrist. It takes a minute to clear up. It’s less than a year, and it’s ticking down much faster than a second should be. 

“Would you like me to look up the date?” the Timer technician asks, a little bored and overly chipper. Maybe that’s part of the job. “Somewhere out there, your One’s finally got a number to meet you.” 

“Huh,” he says, looking a little closer. Kari imagines not knowing if someone’s on the other side, if the choice to have a piece of fancy plastic implanted in your wrist was futile. “I’m okay for now.” 

Kari isn’t that good with dates, but he knows when the season starts. His Timer ends slightly before then, maybe even overlapping camp. He wonders how this is going to fit into his offseason plans. He’s not going back to Finland this off-season, or at least, he thinks, not for long. He has a lot to get used to, since Mike’s leaving him to watch over the boys down in Austin. 

He'll get used to the idea of his One, too. Kari will have to. Just—he thought he’d have more time for this. 

* * *

Kari’s barely awake when he gets the phone call. Once he sees the caller id, he braces himself for what Nill’s going to say. At least, Kari thinks, he’s not finding out that he’s been traded on the internet.

“Lehts, did you hear about Niemi?” Did he hear about fucking Niemi? On the second day of the draft, the Stars traded for Antti Niemi’s rights. They didn’t even want to wait the three days to talk to him. He heard. 

“Yes, I did,” Kari answers. Well, that’s fucking it. They’ve given up on Kari. He looks around his house-his fancy couch, dining room with a chandelier that his decorator thought was a good idea. Kari has the sudden realization that the word he’s thinking is _cozy_ , lived in. When he bought it, Kari wasn’t exactly sure it was permanent. It’s going to hurt to sell. 

Maybe he won’t and let some young rookie rent it out. 

Nill coughs, a little nervously. Kari thinks about the teams that aren't on his no-trade list--they’re not all good teams, but they’re not the worst thing in the world. They didn’t ask him to waive anything, so he has to wait to see who they got to take him. Nill could kill him with the suspense. 

“You think you can get along with him?” he asks, instead of saying, “Congratulations, you’re headed to Florida where all the forgotten Stars go.” 

Kari takes a moment to pause. He holds his breath. He can’t quite believe it. He’s still a Star, still in Dallas, where he started growing up for real. He’s staying. Or they haven’t found any takers, a fleeting uncharitable thought says. Or he’s been demoted to being a backup—but that’s a little irrational. Antti Niemi could be Kari, on paper. 

Maybe that’s the problem. Kari’s not back to his old self. It’s easy to say _it’s not been the same since your concussion_. Kari thinks it himself, sometimes. 

There’s silence on the line. Oh, right, Kari has to answer. “He’s a nice guy,” Kari says, speaking generally. He’s not going to say he hates the guy. Kari’s not dumb, and well, he doesn’t hate the guy. Kari barely even knows the guy. He adds, “We roomed together at Sochi.” 

“We’re going to try an equal tandem,” Nill announces. It takes a little bit for him to explain the idea, and Kari’s shocked into silence at the end of it. Kari’s not sure what this means for the team, but this year, he’s not getting some young backup trying to make his break into the NHL. 

They’ve tried that. That’s never worked.

An hour later, Lindy calls him to tell him the same thing, but only he outright says, “We’re not trading you” and spends longer reassuring Kari that they’re going to share the net equally. Which is a nice thought, but Ruff isn’t the one who makes those decisions. They think the competition would be good for him. Kari doesn’t believe that one bit, but it’s nice knowing that that’s the plan.

Kari can’t help himself from looking at Niemi’s contract, once it breaks. That was fast, Kari thinks. Ten million dollars is a lot to pay for goaltending. Kari guesses he just has to show them it’s worth it.

He hopes it is.

 

The morning Kari heads down to training camp, he looks at his wrist. It’s a zero. All zeros, in fact. That’s… not encouraging. That means it’s today. It could be anyone-a random person he meets while getting some food or someone at the team hotel in Austin. It could be a new staff member.

Another thought strikes him hard. What if his One is a hockey player at camp? 

Kari freezes. He's never really looked, of course, hockey is his job, and most hockey players are idiots and not into guys besides, but--this area of possibility scares him. Because most of the guys he doesn't know are the young rookies, and he can't imagine having him watch Kari's career crash down the hill that is age 30. It's a reality in sports. There's no way someone like that could be his One, to be the one that would make him happy. 

He puts off coming down as long as he can, but there’s always hockey in the end. The only consolation is that Kari’s not the last player to head to camp--not with this many young guys and this many people coming off summer vacation plans. 

Settling in the locker room is step one. Kari looks around, says hi to the faces he’ll be seeing the whole season. They’ll be breaking off into groups soon, but the team roster is mostly set; it’s all about starting to settle into the season and trying to keep the prospects from running underfoot. 

Kari's not alone in having a Timer, but he's probably going to be the only one walking into the room with a new one. He tries to act nonchalant, like this is a normal day of training camp, a normal day of his life. Hardly anyone will even notice, he thinks. 

He even looks Antti, who’s going to try to claw Kari’s net away from him, in the eye.

There’s an obnoxious sound. It’s the rising tones of a Timer. Everyone knows the sound of a Timer, like knowing when Siri goes off when someone even looks at a phone funny. There's a sinking feeling in Kari's stomach.

Kari looks down at his own wrist. Zeros. _Oh,_ he thinks. It doesn't really make all that much sense. He's crossed paths with Antti before. Lots of times, actually, if he really wants to think about it. He recalls a straight row of dashes against Antti's skin, at Sochi, in Cabo.

It never occurred to him that he was never meant to see it count down.

Antti Niemi has never made any move to hide his Timer. Some guys do, but it’s a small band on a wrist. It disappears under a glove or bracelet, and it’s fairly innocuous otherwise. Kari wonders, idly, if it would be a smart idea to get a protector. Probably not. He needs his full range of motion, and the chances of a bounce gone wrong aren’t that high to hit such a tiny area.

Kari wasn't planning on hiding his, and he wonders if it's conspicuous for both the goalies on a team to have zeroes on their wrist. He figures out that's ridiculous ten seconds later, and that no one will probably ask at all. Maybe there'll be some teasing and chirping, but Kari can handle that. 

Lindy's in the room, and his cough ends the strange moment. "Alright boys, onto the ice. Don't fucking gawk. Out." Scevs takes the first steps, and Patty Eaves quickly jostles him to beat him on the way out. Lindy motions to them and their pads and says, "Not you two. We're going to have a talk."

Kari just idly nods and sits back down. Antti mirrors him on the other side of the room. Who thought it was a good idea to have the goalie stalls face each other, anyway? Kari's no architect, but he thinks that was a weird choice. He's never been on the backup side of this equation, either, not since he was seventeen. Who thought it was a good idea? Other locker rooms have goalie stalls side by side.

Well, the room back in Dallas doesn’t either, Kari thinks. 

When the last of the skaters leave, Lindy shakes his head. "Wait a sec, would you?" He radios in, talking a little too fast for Kari to catch, though he does here, "--fast, please."

Jeff Reese walks in, and Kari suddenly feels vulnerable. Reese is their coach, but he isn't his friend like Mike is. He’s yet another new face he hasn’t gotten used to, quite yet. He respects Jeff Reese, of course, and he’s had a few talks with him. They’ve gone over old tape and reviewed his form, but they’re not friends. He half expects Mike to wander in, too, since they’re in Austin. They’d be lucky to have him.

Antti shrugs, inscrutable as always. He looks at Kari again, and Kari thinks he can almost, almost read that expression.

"I didn't know," Kari tells him. "I just got it."

"I wasn't waiting," Antti answers crisply, in Finnish. Kari doesn’t know what it’s like to suddenly go from blanks to a countdown, but it must be like plunging into an icy lake straight from the sauna. Too much of a shock to process until it’s done, something that sounds like something one could twist from wire until met with complete, sudden incomprehension.

Kari knows that Antti isn’t a romantic. He’s not one of those people who push Timers on other people, either. Neither of those explain why he even has a Timer, one of the older ones, in his wrist. Kari’s never asked. 

"Alright, what are we going to do," Nill asks. "You want your agents in on this?"

"Why," Kari asks. He blinks. The contracts are done. He’s not going to make any big statements or commitments about it. 

"This is a problem with the league?" Antti asks. “Timers are personal.”

"We don't know," Nill admits. He pauses. "I don't think this has happened before, but it isn’t the kind of thing that would get spread around. The team can keep it quiet, but it could be hell with the league, the media.” 

Kari waits for it. He waits for him to say that one of them should ask for a trade, that this is too messy and complicated to deal with. Kari grits his teeth a little. The moment doesn't come. 

"This going to hurt the locker room?" Lindy asks, instead. After all, they’d just gotten this experiment set up.

"Nothing changed," Kari finds himself saying. "Same thing as last week." That was when he’d had to do another round of reassuring the media that there wasn’t going to be a goalie crisis, even though both Lindy and Nill were waiting for one to emerge.

Reese remains stoic before saying, "Alright, finish gearing up and we'll stretch. Don’t be too hard on the young guys, eh? Lehtonen, you’re with Desrosiers, group A. Niemi, Muse, group C."

It's not the last they're going to deal with this, Kari knows.

 

Between skates, coach calls a team meeting. Maybe it’s lucky that there weren’t many other people in the room, that it was just roster guys. Kari knows they probably have to do this, but he finds it a little humiliating. It’s better to get it over with, though.

"Alright, so you know what happened this morning," Lindy says. "You tell no one."

There’s a burble of confused hockey players trying to speak at the same time, in about four different languages and whatever the fuck Demers speaks. Eventually, understanding sets in.

“Look, this is not one of those open secrets,” Coach Ruff yells. “This is a team thing. If it affects the team, you know who to take it up to. They don’t want to say anything about it, so not one fucking word. Not even a joke.”

All eyes swing to Kari. Antti’s taken a seat in the row behind him, so fuck him for taking shelter. Kari should have sat behind Big Rig or something.

Kari just nods. “Not a soul. It’s not interesting news, anyway.”

It’s tense, but not so tense as when coach comes in with a sudden announcement about the lineup. Some of the guys with Timers check their wrists. Kari can see the look on some of the faces around him. They want to say something, anything, but they don’t know what they can or can’t say.

The meeting segues into normal training camp stuff, and Kari lets out a sigh of relief.

"Hey, Karps," Jamie says when they get up to leave for food and to get back to their groups, holding out a hand.

Kari looks down at him, bumps his fist. "Yes?"

"I don't, uh," he stammers. Jamie shakes his head. "Look, I've got your back, okay?"

"Thanks, Jamie." Kari pauses, waits for something, anything. Nothing comes. "I mean it."

* * *

Somehow, Kari thinks that commiserating with a couple of drinks is a passable way to end the first day of training camp. The worst part is that everyone else lets him to do it, easy as breathing. Mix a bunch of athletes in a hotel, and you get some more than recommended amounts of booze, even when the trainers are around to tell them off if it's excessive, but otherwise, they're content to let him have a beer or three. 

On one hand, Kari passes Jamie giving a hilariously awkward pep talk to the prospects, so that’s something. He waves at them, and then he feels really, really stupid for doing so. He needs to leave this situation. Possibly to hide away. 

"Oh, hey Karps." Jamie stops to turn to him. Kari can't leave now, which is terrible. He didn't prepare to talk to a bunch of people. "You want to say hi to the young guys?" 

"Hi?" Kari says, tentatively turning to the crowd at the tables. Well, Jamie asked. 

"Hi," they choruse back. Some of them even wave at Kari. They all look alike at this stage, he thinks. Kari takes the moment to keep walking. 

Kari's not cut out to be a mentor. He tries to be encouraging, and seeing Desrosiers try to follow his lead and ask him questions makes him uncomfortable. He can barely handle himself, and seeing Jack Campbell sit by himself is a small, sobering sight. He forces himself to meet Campbell's eyes and nod. 

"I'm not coming up this year, am I?" he asks, and Kari recognizes that voice. It's the voice of defeat. 

Kari's stuck in the position of looking like an asshole if he doesn't answer, but he'll also feel like an asshole if he does. "My groin might disagree with you," Kari settles for, and then he makes a face because that definitely did not come out the way he means it. "Let's wait for November. I'll probably pull something again."

As much as Kari's hoping he's not, something's going to happen. Something always happens. At least it's not going to be back surgery, he thinks. He coughs. "You're going to get some time. I wouldn't say the same for any of the defensemen down in Austin." 

Campbell laughs. "You're right about that. It'd take, what, three injuries before they call some D up? I just need to wait until you catch the flu."

That, Kari thinks, is a kinder answer than he deserves.

* * *

Kari's not entirely sure how Kari and Antti end up in Kari’s room. He knows one of the equipment guys have helpfully told them that they’ll try to make sure their rooms are next to each other on roadies. Kari's not sure how much of the staff know, and it's going to be a headache. It feels like it's going to come out sooner or later, but he doesn't want to think about that. 

He also probably _should_ call his agent.

They'll come to the bridge eventually, and maybe they'll find a way to cross it. 

“This is a bad idea,” Kari says aloud, and he knows that’s not just because of the alcohol. He wonders if he’s supposed to look at Antti in a new light or something.

Kari hasn’t actually thought about what he’d do when his Timer went off; he was too busy in training and trying to relax a little in the off-season. Vaguely, he assumed things would go on mostly as usual. He’s dated before, but it’s been a while. He thought that maybe they’d fall in a rhythm, just like how other guys in the league deal with relationships. Guys bring their girlfriends over all the time, and they do… whatever the wives and girlfriends do during the season. Charity stuff? 

That’s not an option, for them. Kari’s going to have to figure out what being the One means, what Antti being _his_ One means. He takes a breath, drinks half a bottle of water pilfered from the mini bar. 

Also, he thinks, Antti is not suddenly more attractive. He’s the same slightly sullen goalie as ever, with less hair than he had the year before. 

Kari turns around. Antti looks up at Kari from his seat. His eyes are very blue.

"They'll think we're fucking anyway," Antti points out. He snorts. "And I dare you to try picking up when they see the zeros."

“You never had trouble with dashes,” Kari says, though he’s not quite sure what that has to do with anything. 

Antti shrugs, but the wheels are turning in Kari’s head. So _he_ never picked up zeroes. He’s starting to think Antti makes no sense. “Maybe you’re just easy.”

After taking another swallow, he asks, “Are we doing this?”

Kari blinks. Were they even talking about the same thing? He looks at Antti again, takes in his positioning, the challenge in his eyes. Kari lets himself think about pleasantly hazy memories on a beach. Because Kari is out of ideas, he thinks, _It can’t hurt_. He must have said it, too, judging by the way Antti smirks. Kari knows he told himself the same thing in Sochi.

It's not the worst idea in the world, he thinks. And then Antti's fingers are tangled in Kari's shirt, and they're not thinking much at all. 

* * *

Oddly enough, the first person to breach the topic to Kari is Travis Moen, during preseason. He’s a good character guy, but not one that usually butts in with personal advice. Well, Kari amends, not a guy who usually gives him advice. 

“Hey, Kari, don’t sweat it,” Moen says.

Kari looks to him, raising an eyebrow. “Sweat it?”

“Things are what you make of it,” he continues. He shrugged. “And you can always get it removed, so-“ 

Oh, Kari thinks. He’s talking about the Timer. It’s odd, a little, since Moen doesn’t have one himself, but that’s never stopped people from having opinions. That’s an option. Kari’s told it hurts like hell, and he needs his wrist healthy to play. 

Who knows how long that would take to heal? 

“Thanks,” Kari slowly says. He files it away for later. It’s not like he needs it anymore, but-Kari looks down at his wrist. He doesn’t know what he’d feel to see a scar there. 

“No problem.” Moen taps the seat before he goes. 

The rest of practice goes smoothly. Kari still isn’t the most comfortable with Reese, but he’s good at getting what he thinks they should do across. The forwards get chewed out by Lindy; Reese tells Antti and him to ignore it.

The forwards fuck around on their end of the ice while Reese leads them through some stretches, some puck tracking exercises. Occasionally, Kari catches a glimpse of something stupid happening with the skaters. When he catches Klinger falling on his ass, he laughs.

“Hey, you think you can do better?” Klinger says, half-indignant and pushing himself back up. 

“Learn to fall on the puck! Or in the way of it,” Kari responds, brightly. “First thing a goalie learns.”

Klinger pulls one of those faces that make him look like the living dead, but the whistle calls him back to the other skaters. The team transitions into shooting drills. Kari feels good, starting to loosen up for the season.

They couldn’t hope for much better than this—except—Kari has an idea, as they come off the ice. Kari waddles over to the other side of the locker room, still in his pads. 

He passes Oduya and Nemeth scheming to get Klinger to gain weight or to eat more kale, he’s not really sure; his Swedish is not very good, mostly hockey vocabulary and a few phrases he still remembers from school. Behind them, Jordie’s telling a story that has Jamie trying to change the subject every few seconds. 

Kari’s still not sure who thought this locker room design was a good idea. He could yell over twenty noisy hockey players, but this is easier. It’s not the nicest solution, but he’d rather not shout about positioning across the room and confuse everyone else. He wants to talk about goaltending. Solution: sit next to the other goalie.

Antti nods in the right places. 

“And maybe you won’t flop like a beached whale.” 

“Fuck off,” Antti says, which means he paid attention. “You might want to keep your skate in position, outside the post.” 

Talking about hockey is safe. It helps Kari ignore the bruising on his thighs.

* * *

At the Olympics, there’s not a whole lot to do between practice and games-theirs and watching other people’s. There’s some team bonding, sure, which includes riding those stupid bikes that Team Finland gave out and dinners. Kari doesn’t actually want to go sight-seeing that much, after having to bike to the rinks. At least the athletes and tourists they pass wave and smile at them.

It seems convenient, at the time. Kari and Niemi share a room-and, while it is the Olympics and hookups happen everywhere, there’s a lot in favor of someone who’s coming off the same high of a win. Officially, there’s also a round of flu going around the Olympic village, and this isn’t going to help. Also, while he might chance the athlete’s village for a hookup, there’s absolutely no way Kari’s going to a Russian bar. 

So they fuck, at Sochi. 

Who suggests it or how it happens is a little fuzzy after the high of their first match. It involves alcohol and the effervescent feeling of being at the Olympics, with the _National Team_ , ecstatic over their first win, though neither of them did anything but warm the bench. He’s not thinking hard about this. This is the Olympics. What happens at Sochi stays at Sochi-probably just to their room, even. None of their teammates ask. None of them want to know. 

Kari doesn’t ask about Niemi’s Timer. He doesn’t think he ever will. It glows faintly blue, a row of dashes in the dark.

Winning the bronze is a bittersweet affair. For a moment, when they hand him the medal, Kari looks down at it and feels such a surge of national pride that he doesn’t know what to do with it.

The team celebrates because it is a _win_. They know enough about this feeling to drown it in champagne and dancing and lightness, like it can wash away the dark corners of winter encroaching on them all.

There is a party, afterwards. Team Finland is there, all of them; the officials and some of the other athletes, families, and a whole lot of regret. It fades, as many pains do, with champagne and vodka and medals. They could have done better, but at least they didn't do worse. 

“My retirement party.” Teemu Selanne laughs, whizzing by like he’s a man half his age. “Enjoy it! I’m not dead yet.”

Kimmo says, "You're still young, captain," and he leads another toast, though it's not one that's very coordinated at this point. 

Mostly, it’s a whir of bittersweet feelings mingling like the KHL guys and NHL guys wandering around, talking about life for a little while, talking shit, even planning for the summer, so far away. Kari even catches up with Tuomo, in a fit of Jokerit nostalgia. He passes the drunk twenty year olds trying to sneak away to a wilder afterparty and says nothing, not even when Sasha Barkov makes a fool of himself and trips over his own feet. 

When they leave Sochi, Kari thinks, he's going to miss them. The last time he felt this much camaraderie may have been back in Atlanta or maybe even earlier, that summer he spent in the camping woods with other athletes, shooting at trees. Kari knows this: the medal is no consolation prize. They had to be steadfast, strong, and desperate. That thought fades by the time he’s thoroughly soaked with champagne. He’s managed to get back to his room in one piece. 

Kari cannot, cannot imagine what it was like to watch it all. Kari had his two games. Antti had none. Maybe that’s why Kari doesn’t question the way that Antti grabs onto him later that night, the way his nails threaten to break the skin on his thighs, hips, the way they rake over his back in the same red furrows.

When he wakes up in the morning, before they have to pack up Sochi behind them, Kari changes his mind.

They’re actually very nice bikes. When some people from a charity ask them to auction them off, it takes Kari a minute to think about it. It’s only a moment, though.

* * *

While it was easy enough to avoid Antti at camp, divided into groups as they were, the real trouble begins when the preseason games begin. They pack onto the bus, on the way to their first game as a NHL team. A brace of rookies come with them, and Kari doesn't know who's staying, if any of them. 

Jack Campbell isn't, but maybe that's why they gave him the start against Florida. It's a mostly rookie team in front of him, so he's comfortable as you can be in a humid rink in the pre-season. He only loses by one. Desrosiers seems so happy sit on the bench, to watch. That's how it's going to go. 

It's a decent showing, and Kari says, "Good game," when he catches Campbell. He means it. He knows he should offer the usual fist bump, but Kari leaves him alone; he can't offer him anything. 

When the preseason games end, and Dallas with only one win to show for it--and a win not even _his_ on top of it, Kari thinks: _It's going to be a long season._ Maybe it's good they get the taste of losing out of their mouths, though, like running the water until it runs clear.

Kari’s not as angry as he thought he would be, not about that six goal shutout with a young green group in front of him (so much for showing Lagace a good example) or the closer games with the NHLers getting up to speed. 

Antti won the only preseason game. Antti wins the start, the real start, and Kari cannot stifle the indignation he feels--he shouldn’t have to play second string on opening night. But, Kari realizes, that was the whole point of bringing Antti on. Kari should work for it. 

Then, Antti posts a fucking shut-out. He has two fucking assists. When he skates out onto the ice, Kari’s torn between wanting to punch him or-something else. He manages to be happy, but that’s not hard when your team wins the home opener against the Penguins.

It’s still Kari’s team. It’s even a genuine happy because Kari can’t stop smiling on the way back. He babbles to Antti on the way back to the locker room, things he’s not sure make sense. “But can you do that again?” he adds, jokingly. “You outscored Sidney Crosby.” 

“And Malkin,” Antti appends, walking with Kari into the tunnel. “And Kessel. I am sure I can keep doing that.” 

“I believe in you,” Kari says, and he still can’t wipe the smile off his face, though it’s past due.

The team claps and cheers when they walk into the room and Kari can’t bring himself to even be annoyed. Hell, it’s a shutout. It needs some recognition. 

The atmosphere in the locker room is ecstatic. Goose manages to finish giving Eaks a noogie in the corner, talking about him being a Crosby-killer. The Swedes all crowd around Janmark, congratulating him and making a noisy mess of themselves, while the rookie just looks down at his goal-puck in awe.

“Fuck yeah, Nemo,” Demers yells, stopping by for another round of headtaps, which seems excessive at this point. He does a little shimmy. He looks ridiculous. “This is going to be an awesome year.”

“Daddy hasn’t changed.” Antti grimaces at his laces, but good-naturedly, probably to hide that he can smile.

“He was always like this?” Kari asks. “That’s scary.”

“You never get used to it.” He squints over at the other side of the room; it’s only Janmark getting the cowboy hat. “And his pranks are never funny. Don’t burst his bubble.” 

“He’s like a kicked puppy,” Kari agrees.

Post-game interviews are hell. Reporters are more perceptive than Kari thinks people usually are, but maybe it’s because he’s used to hockey players, who are not the most observant of people. 

Kari tries to make himself scarce, but it’s harder than he expects, but he’s overshadowed by the bigger stories of the day. The reporters don’t seem to notice Kari’s wrist, though. He has never been more glad for the bulk of his pads. This isn’t like the summer, when everyone seemed to be happy with the same two stories Kari told about them.

They want a goalie quote. They want to know what the hell is going on in net, and Kari doesn’t know what to do but smile through it and hope he doesn’t say anything that ends up a soundbite. More reporters crowd around Antti, naturally, and Kari takes his short opportunity to leave, very quickly. Behind him, Kari can hear Julie ask, “Do you think your One’s helping you?” 

Antti just stares and shakes his head with a, “I don’t think so. I just went out there and played.”

* * *

Sleeping with Antti at camp was a mistake, Kari realizes, and not one he really wants to repeat. For one thing, there's a part of Kari that tells him he shouldn't sleep with a teammate. (Another part of Kari recalls Sochi, but that was the Olympics, it didn't count, and a whole season is longer than the Games.) 

They're not prone to talk. Kari’s grateful for one thing: he still doesn’t have a plane buddy. Trying to sleep on a plane is hard enough without idle chatter or hard silences. He finds a corner to stow away in, plugs in his headphones and waits. 

Kari's not playing the next game. Two for each of them, Lindy said, and then they'll take it from there. Because Kari is an adult, he knows he needs to talk to Antti sometime. There's no time like the present, people say. 

Kari waits until they get shuffled onto a bus to sit down next to Antti and say, "So." 

"So?" Antti's as collected as ever, leaning back into his seat. In response, Kari turns up his wrist. He shrugs. 

"These?" Antti turns his wrist over, to hit the point a little harder. Or to show Kari that the movie is a little ridiculous looking. "Why worry? You're not the type to expect me to marry you tomorrow." 

There's a little pause, a little space for doubt, but Kari shakes his head. He isn't. He doesn't know what he expects, though, other than for them to play hockey and get through this year alive. Jamie will still be captain next year. The sky is blue. 

There are people who throw themselves headfirst into the Timers and wonder why it doesn't seem to be the same thing as everyone says it is, like every pair is the greatest love story in the world. This, Kari thinks, is not a situation anyone thinks of, that no one makes movies of; they're two people. Kari and Antti are nearly strangers or at least as much of strangers as two Finnish NHLers can be.

Most people do not have to work with their One. Most people don't have to compete against their One to keep their spot. The last thing Kari needs is a replacement. 

"You're--" Kari starts, but doesn't finish. He was about to say, _You're my One_ like it meant the same thing to them both. They're supposed to be happy together, somehow, someday. "You're an asshole," he settles for, his heart not really into it. _Not what I expected,_ Kari doesn't add, but Antti knows that just as well as Kari.

Antti shrugs. "You knew that before. Aren't we all?"

Kari thinks about it and nods. It's true. Well, maybe. He doesn't think there's a cruel bone in Fiddler's body, but they are hockey players. 

Kari manages to avoid thinking about it until the inevitable crowd of hockey players coalesce in the locker room. Kari's gear mostly manages to shield him from looking at anyone else, but he can't ignore the sound of Antti and goalie gear in the stall next to him. 

Fuck, Antti'd said, _You're not the type to expect me to marry you tomorrow_. It could mean nothing. It probably means nothing--and that's it. Kari doesn't want to think about what they're supposed to do now. Maybe nothing. Maybe they'll play, and someone will get traded, and they'll come back to it when they're old and retired. 

Kari shakes his head. He should focus on hockey. That's always harder when he's not starting, when he knows he'll watch this team play, with nothing to do but snack and wait. 

"Right, so is everyone done recovering?" Jamie settles the room, putting on his captainly voice. He's gotten better at it; Kari remembers the shy rookie Jamie used to be. "We can't one-and-done the season. It's looking like a good one." 

"Recovering?" Antti scoffs. leaning forward in his stall. One hand idly runs over the line of his throat-guard. "I did most of the work."

Kari knows where he stands, or at least, mostly. This is still his team. But it might be too early for Antti to say things like that, even though Kari agrees. A shutout deserves some merit, and that's the least credit they can give him. There's a small silence while everyone thinks it over. 

"So I hope you're not too hungover," Rous chimes. 

"Can you do that again, though?" Eaks follows. "Because that would be really impressive." 

* * *

They're in Colorado, so it’s not entirely unexpected when Antti lets in six. He doesn't repeat opening night. The real season is here. 

Even so, Kari doesn’t think he’s ever lost that badly to the Avs, though he’s not sure if this was worse than being shutout by a hotter goalie. He could see Antti losing resolve on the ice with every passing goal against.

As the team retreats to sleep, Antti doesn't look like he's sulking, but it has to sting losing the second game. Kari just knew that having rooms next to each other would be a terrible idea--the walk down the hall is almost unbearable. There’s a difference between comfortable silence and very uncomfortable silence. This skirts the edge. 

Kari makes a move to close the door between their adjoining rooms, but Antti has been sitting on his bed, staring off into somewhere for the last fifteen minutes. You wouldn’t know how vocal he is on the ice by the way he looks now, staring off into the distance like there’s another reporter trying to get him for a quote. And, as much as Kari’s bad about it himself, it’s not the end of the world yet.

He crosses the threshold.

A thought crosses Kari’s mind. “Meditation?”

“You should try it sometime,” Antti says, deadpan. Antti looks up, wary, probably wondering what the hell Kari’s going to do. No one likes a goalie after a loss. Kari doesn’t want to be around himself after a loss. “Let go. Or at least come back with cocaine and hookers.”

Kari would know if he was serious if he asked for liquor, so there's that, at least. He doesn't know why he even tried to reach out. It's only game 2. There's more than enough time to shit the bed, but it's too early. 

“It wouldn’t be the Stars if we could get past Varlamov,” Kari says. He aims for conversational, but he’s never mastered that. “If there’s one fucking guy--that guy--that the forwards can’t forget, it’s him.”

“I know,” and Antti says it with an edge, like Kari’s never considered that he knows what it’s like to be a goalie and that he’s stupid for mentioning it. "Say something else. They'll have to be better." 

"Well, good. I'm not here to be your pity fuck," he says, and Kari realizes, in that moment, that he means it. Kari doesn’t press anymore. There’s a sharp look in Antti's eyes, a flash. Kari expects a harsh word, more barbs about his goaltending, maybe, but nothing comes. Eventually, Kari sits down next to him. He doesn’t meet his eyes again, but he asks, "Really, meditation?"

"You want to try?" Antti sounds a little surprised, but he starts counting down when Kari doesn't say no. Kari takes one breath, two breaths, three breaths and listens.

 

There's a shutter of curtains being opened. 

Kari blinks, unnerved by the sudden change in light. He startles, sitting up and then shielding his eyes from the early sunlight. At least it isn't an early morning flight. That would have been much worse. 

“Shitty room coffee?” asks Antti, and Kari remembers that this is Antti's room. Kari doesn’t remember him being an early riser, but that was a different time, far away and years ago. 

Kari nods. They have a plane to catch. He's not going to say no. When he stands up, he feels a tinge. He should stop sleeping on couches. His back isn't as bad as say, Spezz's, but he's not twenty-two anymore. Antti hands him the cup, and their fingers almost touch. Kari chases the thought with a gulp of bitter coffee with too much creamer and not enough sugar.

It burns his tongue. 

"So, meditation," Kari says. He rolls his shoulders. Kari yawns. He could, in fact, sleep more on the plane. "It could be worse." 

* * *

"Kari," Julie says, while the camera guy sets up. "I noticed you got a Timer, but I didn't notice it was already zeroed out! That's exciting." 

"I mean, yes," Kari mumbles, in answer. 

Julie smiles at him; she has the media smile down pat, and Kari thinks that might even be her default smile now. She's only interviewing him for a Stars Insider piece--he shouldn't be so nervous.

Kari smiles back, a little strained. 

"When did that happen?" And Kari knows she asks just because she wants to be happy for him--and that's the hard part. Julie's one of those people happy with her own Timer, one of those where it fell into place. Mostly, he amends, but it's never made the arena too awkward. 

"Before the season," Kari supplies, and he still wonders who knows and who doesn't. Tom must know, but the team trusts Tom with everything. At least one of the equipment guys know. 

"These things work out," Julie says. Kari doesn't know what she's read in his face that makes her say that. Julie runs a hand through her hair, tidying it before they go on camera. "I was a little skeptical about Kelly, too, at first. I didn't know how close we'd be working together. But we're happy as we can be, and we're family if you need us." 

"Thanks, Julie," he says, and something about his expression then must make her determined to give him a hug. She tries, and Kari--Kari leans down and lets her. He gets hugs on the ice sometimes, but it doesn't happen often, less than half as often now that Trevor’s gone.

It's not as reassuring as she thinks it is. 

Kari’s not ready to make a big statement.

* * *

Kari starts against the Oilers. It's not the best game in the world. McDavid, Kari thinks, what the fuck was he supposed to do? It does seem, though, that Kari's always been too nice and always giving rookies their first goal. 

When Kari comes to the bench for a fresh towel, Reese is there with a kind word, which is not so different from other years. If this is all, maybe this year isn't too bad. 

"They're trying to screen you," Antti half-yells, from the stool. He hadn't wanted to sit on bench either. They're both beyond working the door. "Yell at the defense more."

Kari grimaces. "What, like I haven't been trying?" 

"Trying to make a rookie's day, maybe. Don't be so nice." Antti counters and leans forward. Then, magnanimously, he says, "Tighten the buckle on your pad, too." 

"Thanks." Kari blinks; he hadn’t noticed. There is a point in that. He checks. It's not so loose that it should be a problem, but it's not what he's been practicing with. 

It's no shutout, but it's not a bad showing. 

“Good game, Kärppä,” Antti says at the end of the line of hugs and pats. He says it almost absently. Kari's certain Antti's laughing at Kari under it, or, at least, supremely unimpressed. He pats Kari on the mask before breaking eye contact, skating away. 

Always last, Jamie pats him on the helmet, leaning to rest his forehead above Kari's mask. Jamie has a smile on his face, and he says, "Good game, Kari," like he's ready to say it again. A certain part of Kari is lulled by this small ritual, aided by the cheer in his captain's voice.

But the rest of him says, "Thanks." 

They lull around center ice for a little bit, for the fans. Kari finds Antti in the circle and follows him, like they planned it, catching up easily. They don't say anything to each other as they retreat back into the room. 

* * *

Kari takes Antti out to dinner when they’re in Tampa, and they have a game the next day, but for now, they're enjoying the weather.

“Why the hell don’t you have anyone’s number?” Kari asks, mainly venting his frustrations. They’re not going to talk about hockey, he’s decided, not really, but this is getting annoying. People don't reach out to him very often. He doesn't want to become the contact for both of them. 

“Do you want to talk to people?” Antti does have a point. He also adds, “I do, but they don’t have mine.” 

Kari can't fault him for that, either. 

The waiter comes back with their food, disrupting Kari’s thought. He settles for, “Are you settling in okay?” like a concerned teammate, not whatever they are, whatever the Timers are supposed to mean they are, not whatever the One is supposed to mean. 

“Do you have the number of a real estate agent?” Antti asks, brusquely. “I might need a place to settle into, first.” 

“You’re looking to buy a house?” Kari’s not going to hide his surprise. Antti doesn’t need to buy a house. His contract isn’t lasting that long that he needs to. Whatever angle Antti is going for, Kari thinks, it’s one he can’t understand. Kari wonders if he was supposed to offer Antti a room. Is that what people do, in situations like this? 

“I’m selling the other one.” Antti rolls his shoulders back, takes another sip of his drink. “So, I should get a new one.”

It makes sense, but, “You didn’t like San Jose?” 

"It was better than Chicago. But if I'm not going to use it, why keep it?" There's a sharp noise behind him. Antti looks away for a moment, over his shoulder. Kari's eyes linger on the line of this throat for a moment before Kari realizes it's happened and stops. 

“I could make some calls,” Kari cedes. It doesn’t strike him as a good reason to ask him for house advice, but, if that’s what he’s asking, he could do that. “There’s still probably cards around my house. Did you talk to Spezz? He and his wife bought a house last season.” 

“Somehow, I don’t think I have the same priorities in a house. I don’t need room for a pony, for one.” 

Kari snorts. Well, that many girls would do that--though Spezz would probably be upset if anyone gave his girls a pony for Christmas. He stops himself from asking, “What, and we do?” because that just led back to the Timers, led back to the concept of them as more than a goalie tandem. He says, instead, “Well, it’s Texas.”

* * *

Road trips are supposed to be bonding experiences. They say you build a team on a road trip, and well, it’s true. The first road trip of the year is important; it’s the one where the team has nothing to do but be around each other, where the young guys cluster around in groups and go sightseeing. Sharp’s already joined the club of old men, swapping baby pictures and vaguely threatening the rookies with babysitting. 

The Stars win, and the relief is so great. Kari can feel it sink in. This is why all the guys all go to a bar together this time--by the end of the season, they'll segment off into smaller groups. That's probably for the best. Because they are more than twenty guys, they take up several tables.

Kari will remember why he doesn't go out as much as he used to later, when the lights are not so enticing, and the music not so vibrant--when the ache of the season has set into his bones. For now, he doesn't feel old, and for someone who isn't a professional athlete, he wouldn't be. 

Someone comes back with a tray of shots. "Hey," Rous says, "to the first of many; we've got to keep the strength up, no? You with the saying? Lazy cat won't get the cheese." 

Kari smiles, not quite sure what he's saying, but that's normal. He bumps Rous's proffered fist. Kari exchanges a look with Rous and knocks one back, not bothering to ask what the hell it is. It stings pleasantly of alcohol, and well, that's what matters. 

He's not particularly looking for a hook-up, though several of his teammates are trying. 

Kari looks around, unbuttons his collar. He moves away from the tables, towards the bar. He might, he thinks. He takes a seat to clear his thoughts.

What Kari does not expect is to get Antti's _running commentary_ about the ups and downs of everyone's pick-up attempts. After they see Val trying to use his limited English to help a struggling Eakin, Kari stifles his laughter in his sleeve. 

"They're either really bad about trying for a threesome," Antti declares, drawing Kari's attention over to where Jamie and Tyler are awkwardly in a corner, next to a group of girls. It's fairly obvious they got herded there. "Or about to get ripped to shreds." 

"Or Seggy put his foot in his mouth again," Kari suggests. That's more likely. 

Antti shrugs. "I think they care more about his abs." 

Kari admits that's likely, as well. "I don't think that's that bad. Knowing what you care about." 

Antti nods. Scevs passes by, with someone on his arm, prompting Antti to note, "She's laughing." 

"At his jokes?" Kari frowns. "Why?" 

"Who knows? But there's a lot you can do with a good shirt," Antti says. "And acting like you have no problems. Sincere compliments help." 

"Are you trying to give me advice?" Kari asks, incredulously. "Didn't you tell me that I'd have bad luck trying?" 

Antti blinks. He puts down the drink he's been nursing with a hollow thud. He coughs. "I don't think you need advice." 

"That might even be a compliment." Kari puts down his own drink. "I could, if I wanted to." 

"Picking up guys in bars is a younger man's game," Antti adds, and that might not be a compliment. He shrugs, inscrutable. "You could manage. You have redeemable qualities." 

Kari makes a sound, something close to awkward laughter. He wonders where Antti's going with this. "On the ice or off it?" 

"I like your goaltending. It's fluid--not perfect, but careful." Antti says it with a tone that needs to get more--like it means more than just a mostly professional comment about his hockey. "And I don't think you're that much of an fuck-up." 

"You like my goaltending," Kari repeats flatly. It's not like he doesn't understand where that thought comes from. He can admire the skill; he knows how difficult the saves can get. He takes a sip while he ponders this, taking advantage of the lull it provides. Kari never thought he'd see a flush creeping up Antti's face, but he does, in the silence. The bar's a little dusty and hot and humid, but that's Florida. 

"Is this," Kari realizes, "a practical demonstration?" 

Antti lets out a little bark of laughter. It's unexpectedly bright. And it is also not a denial, but really, that was not what Kari expected. Antti shrugs, and now that Kari's thinking about it, well, that is a nice shirt--solid black, tight enough to show hints of muscle even in the dim light, before any intentional flexing. He doesn't think Antti notices him looking, but there's only the low thrum of the people around them to fill the moment.

Sharpy, who hasn't yet bored the rookie with his stories, spots them. Kari freezes when he notices, but all he does is raise his drink to them. Kari still thinks this might be a mistake. Pre-season wasn't serious, but this--this is the season; these games matter. What Kari does matter.

Antti's not wrong about one thing; Sharpy definitely thinks they're fucking. 

And, Kari thinks, they could be. It's not the worst thing in the world--not in the least. Kari's reminded; a fleeting memory of Antti's dick against Kari's thigh, his hand on Kari's ass. Kari swallows a lump in his throat. He could do worse. Honestly, he could do much worse.

Kari gets up. Antti follows him. 

He doesn't want to think about what it means when Antti opens his bag and throws lube and condoms on the bed. Because that means Antti thought he'd pick up or--or they'd end up here, together, in Antti's room. 

Kari's not sure what option makes him feel better, a sinking emerging from the void. Antti takes off his shirt, discarded and wrinkled on the floor. This refocuses Kari's attention and reminds Kari to focus on simple tasks, like the buttons on his own pants. 

Sometime after that, Antti straddles Kari, pushing the waistband of Kari's boxers down in the process. It's easy to focus on Antti's bare skin, on his hot breath in Kari's ear. "You won," he notes, with an amused sound after. 

"Yeah," Kari notes, swallowing a lump in his throat. “So did you," and Antti did, a shutout no less, and they didn't end up in bed after that. Antti leans back, shoulders relaxing, like he had a plan (and maybe he did) that just went awry. Kari takes that moment to grab his shoulders to steady him, to go in to kiss Antti, and fuck, it's sloppy and unprecise, but very, very real. 

There's a moment just to breathe when they break apart. 

Then Antti pushes Kari enough to get him to lie back down, tells him, "I'm going to suck your dick," and Kari's going to go with it. He fumbles for the condom, and he's definitely not complaining. He doesn't complain about the heat of Antti's mouth afterwards, except to swear when he pulls off, leaving Kari thrusting into the air until he settles. 

Antti just looks at him for a moment, and Kari flushes a little more under the attention. He has the distinct feeling that Antti's looking for something, committing something to memory, judging Kari, which is unfair, too much to try to process when Kari's dick is aching. Finally, Antti says, "Fuck," taking a breath. 

"Fuck," Kari agrees.

His hands wander to Kari's ass, placing pressure on it--and then he's back on Kari's dick, tongue doing _something_ that makes Kari grunt in surprise. 

Their conversation doesn't get more intelligible than that, at least not until they're past the point where Kari drowsily relaxes, where he warms up the lube and a couple of fingers into Antti, when Antti stops bucking into his hand and stills for just a moment. 

They recover quickly. It's what goalies do, but it's only to where they can clean up. Kari really doesn't want to move. There's something that Kari should say here, and he tries. 

"What do we do about--" and Kari can't even finish the sentence. Maybe it's not the time to ask--not exactly great pillowtalk--but fuck, when? Antti knows, though, what he's asking about. 

"The Timers? We don't _have_ to do anything," Antti says, mildly exasperated. 

It's true. They don't. They're still their own people, and Kari isn't going to pretend to be the kind of happy that people think of when they think of when they think of a Timer and their One. Antti Niemi is very few people’s image of a Prince Charming.

"Why do you have one, then?" Kari asks, a little sex-stupid. "If you weren't looking for--" Kari swallows the _me_ in his throat, and his cough doesn't nearly hide it enough. "Someone." 

Antti looks at him. He says, very plainly, "I don't like girls." 

Well, Kari knew that. He has evidence of that, right now. He raises an eyebrow, poising to ask a question. Then he doesn't ask. Oh, Kari realizes. Easier to be chirped for being a romantic or a sucker than to make excuses all the time. When he says, "It was easier," it's not quite a question. 

Antti makes a little pained noise, probably wondering why Kari was ruining his afterglow with talk. He nods anyway. "You know how the locker room is." Or at least how it is when the guys are younger, when you're a rookie yourself. 

Kari can picture it clearly enough. He didn't have the most normal juniors experience, so he avoided some of the worst of it, but there's always teasing. If that was Kari, if Kari didn't also like girls, well. Kari can't know what he would have done, but--he'd maybe have quit hockey. 

Antti didn't. 

That, Kari thinks, is not something he wants to dwell on. The past is the past. They have a day off coming up before they have to fly to Pennsylvania. Kari lets his thoughts drift--he knows there's a place he went to last time he was in Sunrise; the food was good enough that it might need a second visit. 

“Is this what we're doing,” Antti asks. Kari realizes he must have said that aloud. “Winner buys dinner?” he says, which just means he doesn't want to pick up the check. 

“It could be,” Kari says, taking a deep breath. He doesn’t know if he wants this thing to be a pattern, either, but he admits that it feels fantastic after a win. And buying a dinner is nothing. “If you don’t make it your plan to lose.”

Antti doesn't think that even merits a response; he gets up and heads for a shower. 

Kari falls asleep to the sound of running water. 

* * *

Later, they set up a little game on the table in Kari's room. It's okay, but it's a little crowded for four hockey players and a couple of gossiping spectators. 

"You can watch, but not play," Spezz tells Janmark. He pats his shoulder reassuringly. "You shouldn't lose money to us until after your rookie dinner." 

"Who says I'll lose?" 

Spezz giggles, but he puts on his dad face quick enough. Not quick enough to stop Rous's "Ha! Maybe you should sit for him" or the "Let the kid play, we'll waive it off," from Sharp. Janmark doesn't take the opportunity and takes a seat by Patty. 

Kari's not quite done losing money yet, so he deals the next hand of poker out to the guys in front of him. In the small moment after, he taps at the narrow strip of his Timer. 

Rous grins at his cards, which might mean nothing, since he's always grinning like he's done something particularly clever. Sharp swears at his cards, which also means nothing, since he's caught them enough with that particular tactic. 

They go around the table. 

"Rous is cheating," Patty declares, and as a semi-neutral bystander, he gets to call these things. "Check his sleeves." 

"What, no!" Rous clutches his chest dramatically. "I would never. I'm just that good." 

"Yeah?" Sharp asks. "Give it up." 

"It's not a penalty unless you get caught," Janmark dispenses.

"See?" Rous says, either missing the point or admitting that he's cheating. And that he's already teaching the rookie bad habits. 

"This is you, getting caught, you shit," Sharp says, laughing a little. "Nice try." 

Rous frowns and wears the look of complete innocence. "Because I'm so generous, yeah, I'll let Patty come in for me. After this hand." 

Kari doesn't know what the next squabble is about--he rubs at his wrist a little more. 

"That itch?" Spezz asks Kari, putting down his cards and thankfully not calling Kari's bluff. "Jen's itches sometimes. She says some kind of oil helps." 

"A little," Kari says. "I'll try that." 

It's as much as Kari wants to say on the subject of Timers. Especially not with Spezz, who's been married to his One for what seems like forever. They have cute kids, Kari thinks, even if there's a lot of them and probably another on the way. It's a safe bet. 

Rous turns over two queens, and Kari's out another hundred bucks. 

* * *

Kari gets pulled on the first home game back. His only conciliation is that Antti also lets in three goals. 

"That's one way to split the time," Kari says, and he knows the loss is going to be on his record. He's not sure if anyone's listening. 

"Ah, it can't be that hard to stop a puck," Tyler says the practice after that, leaning on his stick. "They've got all that padding and stuff." 

"You want to try?" Antti asks. Goalies are used to forwards pulling this shit--they think their job is easy, trying to keep track of a small black piece of rubber flying at ridiculously high speeds. Antti rolls his shoulders, adding, "We could find a kids' team for you to practice on." 

"Seggy, you can't even stickhandle with my stick." Jamie taps Tyler on the shoulder. He doesn't even pause before saying, "Hell yeah, let's see you try." 

"How about it, Nemo? Let me borrow your stuff for a little bit." 

"Are they coming back in one piece?" Tyler's not as bad at Jamie at breaking sticks, but Kari thinks Antti has a right to be annoyed. Antti didn't even get a backup mask made.

"That's unfair," Faksa asks, and well, the rookie gets to ask every question without being made too much fun of. "Since we score goals, but Segs can't stop pucks." 

"Maybe you do, kid," Fidds says, patting him on the shoulder. "But not all of us." 

"Alright, so who can't score goals and wants to shoot on Seggy?" Jamie calls. "Hey, Rous, you want to try?" 

"Fuck you, I score the most points of France players." Rous says back, following with a string of French swears. Tyler's still distracted and making ridiculous poses when Jordie goes in for the shot. 

It hits the crossbar and goes in. Tyler blinks; he hadn't even seen it. "Hey, no fair, Darth!" 

"It's okay," Kari adds, after Tyler hands Antti back his gear unceremoniously. "We aren't paid to score goals, and they're terrible at positioning." Though, Kari thinks, he should try to get a goal for himself soon. It'd be nice to have one.

"And his form was terrible." Antti shakes his head. He looks down at his gear. "I'm going to have these washed."

"Probably smart." No one can really be sure where Tyler Seguin's been. 

 

Kari sits in the tunnel when Antti plays the Sharks for the first time in years. No one expected otherwise; it's one of those moments where you face down your past and win or let them steamroll you. Also, Antti's been playing hot, and you ride a hot goalie. It's just what you do. 

It's even a good win, Kari thinks, though the score doesn't show it. They have special team problems, and there's only so much a goalie can do to stop that. Two powerplay goals against and a short handed goal; it made Kari antsy to see the last one go in, with enough time for the Sharks to rally. 

Antti gives him a wide smile when Kari comes up to congratulate him. It's mostly for the smugness of winning against a team that didn't want to keep him, but Kari can't help but return it. 

Unexpectedly, Antti asks Kari a question as they skate off the ice. "Are you going to tell me why Spezz just told me to tell you 'teatree oil?' Do you have a new beauty routine?"

"Ah, itchy wrist," Kari says, not elaborating, but it's fairly obvious. Kari doesn't see why Spezz needed to use Antti as a messenger, though. 

* * *

It is a pattern. It’s one that works. They don’t put a name on it, not only because it may be a new superstition, but also it’s not _just_ sex. Hockey players are creatures of superstition and habit-goalies with rituals are nothing new. 

They win more games than they lose. Kari doesn’t see a reason to change anything quite yet. Kari wonders if it’s been too easy. If it’s because he’s convenient and doesn’t ask too many questions. Kari won't say that they end up falling in bed together; that makes it more mysterious and fanciful than what it is. 

Kari wins. Antti pats him or gives him a fist bump or knocks masks with him. The room is enthused, energized, even with another win. They go out to dinner and come back together. They complain about the team and the game good-naturedly all the way back to their hotel rooms. Or Antti shows up at Kari's door with something stupid Kari forgot. 

Or Antti wins, mostly at home. They carpool, sometimes, mostly to the airport and back. Sometimes they made a stop to grab groceries one of them is running low on. Or they've suddenly made plans to watch American football. 

Antti doesn't ask him any questions Kari doesn't have the answer to, in the morning. It's easy in that way. 

If Kari had thought about, it's inevitable that someone would see them eventually. They don't even meet after a loss, but they haven't been doing much of that. The team hasn't been doing much losing at all. It's so different. Last year, it seemed like the team couldn't score and he play well at the same time. 

If he'd been pressed, Kari would have hoped it would be Spezz or Fidds or Hemmer, who would have just closed the door and not talked about it later. They're good guys like that. In a pinch, Jamie would do, he'd bluster something and try to be a supportive captain.

So naturally, when Kari takes the walk between Antti's room and his one morning, Tyler stops and stares for a minute. "Did you?" 

"Did I what?" Kari stares back. He has his keycard in his hand, ready to get his stuff, shower, and change, but first he has to get past Tyler looking baffled. 

“Okay, stupid question," Tyler admits, holding his hands up in defeat, but he continues anyway. The curse of Tyler Seguin is that he doesn’t know when to stop talking. "But you wouldn’t have looked twice at him before the Timers, right? I mean, no offense, but he’s not exactly a looker."

Kari coughs. Antti was right; everyone would assume they were fucking. The great irony was that they didn't even fuck. They spent the night being homesick about Finland and the taste of tar. He's not sure Tyler wants the answer, so he vaguely says, “What happens in Sochi…”

“Oh fuck,” Tyler winces, like the thought hurts him. “Okay, did not need to know that.”

“You asked,” Kari replies, a little annoyed. At some point, Kari’s going to feel insulted. But, well, Tyler doesn’t mean to, which should count for something. 

Maybe. 

It gets Tyler out of his way, at least. 

The problem with Tyler is that his stupidity tends to spread. Well, stupidity condenses in a crowd, but Tyler Seguin is the disease vector. He's not the only one who's asking, after that, and it's mostly the impressionable rookies. 

"Uh, so are you," Janny asks Kari, nonsensically. "Can I?" 

Kari shrugs. 

Janny looks sheepish. He glances down at his wrist, where a band covers his Timer. It's definitely a Timer question. 

Kari starts laughing. He can't help himself. "Really, Janny, what are you afraid of? I'm not going to make fun of your Timer." Sometimes, very rarely, he wishes more Swedish would have stuck with him at school. This is one of those times. Nothing he says seems to sound right. 

"It's soon. I checked calendars," he says. "We have a game that day." 

"And?" Kari frowns. "Is there a problem?" 

"What if it goes off on the ice?" 

"Don't look in the stands," Kari suggests. There's no real way to help that. Unless. No, probably not, he thinks, but he has to ask. "Do you think it'll be a Shark?" 

"No," Janny makes a face, which says it all. "I don't." 

"If you don't like men, your One's not going to be hockey player." Kari doesn't know why he has to say it, but there. Sometimes kids are dumb. Janny relaxes a little. "Maybe a Sharks fan," Kari continues, aiming for thoughtful. "But that's okay. Get her Daddy's autograph. She'll be impressed." 

"Not Nemo's?" 

Kari frowns.

 

Kari doesn't expect Jyrki to ask him anything about It. He's not surprised, though, when Jyrki softly asks, "How?" 

Kari repeats, "How?" 

"The Timer thing," he clarifies. "How did that happen?" 

"Do you want to know?" Kari doesn't have all the answers. If he knew the secrets of how the Timer just knows where its match is, well, he'd be a far richer man. "But I don't, really." 

"Not really, but some of the others ask sometimes." Jyrki frowns, looking down. "I don't know why they ask me." 

"You could tell them we talk dirty in the locker room," Kari suggests. It's because Jyrki's Finnish, and the team is nosy. Honestly, they talk about normal stuff, nothing that he wouldn't say to any of the other guys. Well, except the goalie things. 

Jyrki stares for a second before it registers that it's a joke. Then he scoffs, a little. "It would serve them right." He pauses, for a moment, cheek starting to redden. "Please don't start." 

Kari pats Jyrki on the shoulder. "Feel free to make shit up." 

"Nemo won't mind?" 

"If it's funny, he'll laugh." Which isn't the same thing, Kari knows, but Antti won't mind. Probably. 

"Or yell at me." 

Kari's not sure he was meant to hear that, but honestly, goalies yell at their defensemen. That's what they do. Kari's less likely to do it in Finnish, on the ice. Jyrki's the first Finnish defenseman Kari's had since he was a rookie himself. He asks, "Did you have a real question?" 

Jyrki shakes his head and leaves. 

* * *

When the team-building parties start, set up by the As, Kari finds himself in the strange position of turning one down. He usually doesn’t, but, “I have plans.” 

It’s strange, to say that. He had all the free time in the world last year, save some standing plans with some people on other teams when they had overnighters in other cities. Kari tried to work on his cars a lot. Sometimes, it was okay. 

Spezz nods. He asks Kari, “Do you have a car show you're going to? Or is it race season?” Spezz has been very supportive of Kari enjoying NASCAR, though none of them have ever tried to go to more than one race with him.

“Just dinner with Antti,” Kari answers. “But, uh-“

“Ah, date night. Another time, then.” Spezz pats Kari on the back. Kari wants to protest, but Spezz continues, acting like it's nothing. “You ever see a horse race? I’m trying to convince Hemmer it’s not boring.” 

“It is boring,” Hemsky chimes in, looking up from fumbling around in his bag. “If I wanted to see animals run, I’d play fetch with my dogs.” 

“There’s always a rodeo,” Fidds says, while beating out the Stars cowboy hat. “We haven’t taken the rookies to their first one, yet.” 

It's a good idea, Kari thinks. As a unit, they all nod and agree. It's something to do. While they go to gather some of the younger guys to go to a rodeo, Kari stills. He's never really considered dinner with Antti date night before. It’s a semi-regular thing. 

* * *

Kari lets in five. He gets pulled while they're tied. 

He tags Antti in, tapping the inside of his pad with his stick. Antti merely nods and returns it. There's still time left in the third, and Lindy says to him, "It's for momentum, Lehts," but what he means is, "You're tired, and Nemo can't be worse than that sorry fucking shitshow." 

The clock ticks down. They fucking score a goal. 

Kari sets his jaw. He should be happy, but honestly, he's in disbelief. "No saves," Kari mutters to himself. "Not a single one." They didn't need to pull him, and it stings. 

Antti will get this win. Kari's slow to get off his seat, to join the line of to congratulate Antti--for what, Kari doesn't know, maybe for breathing. He has to get through a few guys trying to pat him on the head, first. _Sorry,_ Fidds mouths when he passes by, though what Fidds needs to apologize for, Kari doesn't know. 

Afterwards, Antti is apologetic. Sheepish, even, for someone who looks like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth sometimes. 

Kari can't believe the feeling that bubbles up somewhere behind his stomach. He's a grown man; he's past thirty. He's left the concept behind a long time ago. He's not going to call it a crush.

Kari feigns a smile and says, "Well, it happens." 

"Only to you," Antti replies, and well, that's true. It's happened to Kari before, but he's not sure if Antti knew that off the top of his head--it might have just been some chirping. 

Kari offers his fist. He gets a bump in return. 

"I'll make it up to you," Kari hears, over the sound of Faksa being joyful and hugging the rest of the young guys. Kari looks and sees a gleam in Antti's eye. 

 

He does. 

* * *

Sometimes, Antti looks almost unflappable. 

It’s annoying.

After a fantastic game, and Kari can definitely say it was fantastic, Antti stretches out in the locker room, like he hadn't made a split-save in the second, like his arms didn't burn from the sudden grab he had to make. He envies him, a little, for that, but what was a violent wave has dulled to a small trickle. 

A few of the guys walk by, and Val mutters something about Finnish ice in Antti’s veins. Kari blinks, and he doesn’t know whether to be offended or not that he wasn’t included.

“You left too young. It’s melted,” Antti chirps, low so that only Kari can hear. Kari knows what’s behind that. He’s too emotional for a goalie, too much in his head. The only way that Kari gets away with it is that he’s good. But, Kari falters in his thought. He’s getting old. It can’t last. His talent took him this far, but his head could fuck it all up. He’s not ready to stop being the guy and watch a younger, faster goalie in front of him.

He looks over to Antti. He doesn’t have to, just yet. 

Generally, no one really bothers Kari during practice, unless they're goading him to see if he's a better second overall than Tyler. Tyler's form is still atrocious, making more guesses than anticipating where the puck will go. Kari scores, which he thinks is a point in his favor. Also, he's not Tyler Seguin, which gives him the upper hand at life. 

Back in the locker room, Rous holds his hands out for a fist bump, which Kari returns, just a step out of beat. Rous might be Kari's favorite person on the team. He's so enthusiastic that it grates sometimes, but at least you know what you're getting with him. And unfortunately, you know what you're getting with him. 

Cat pictures, Kari can handle. 

Rous trying to sling an arm around his shoulder and saying, "How long have we known each other?" is a bad sign of things to come. 

"What do you want, Rous?" and Kari tries to keep it jovial, like Rous asking for a favor isn't going to lead to a very bad prank. 

"Nothing. I'm wounded," he says, leaning in closer to Kari's ear, but ultimately failing. He says, somewhere near Kari's shoulder, "Help me settle a bet. It's nothing big. Just help me, your buddy, your friend." 

Kari lets Rous lead him over to the rookies, and he merely says, "Does Hemmer know you've stolen them?" which is unfair, he knows, but Rous and Hemmer have a weird ongoing battle to see who Faksa likes best. 

"He didn't steal us," Janny says, which Kari hardly believes. Faksa, tellingly, says nothing, not even a squeak. 

"I didn't!" Rous frowns, pulls one of his innocent faces. 

Kari snorts. "Hey, whatever prank you're doing," because they must be, "No glitter. It gets everywhere." 

"All I wanted was for you to show them some goalie wisdom," Rous protests. "Why doubt me?" 

"Kari?" 

Kari looks over his shoulder, where Antti's eyebrow is raised in confusion. Right, Kari thinks, they had plans. 

"Alright, go." Rous puts up his hands in frustration. "Some things are sacred, like my honor." 

Kari has no idea what that means. Antti shakes his head, which means he doesn't either. 

* * *

"Really sorry, Kari," Klinger says, unprompted, for a fifth time in two days. At some point, Kari's going to expect him showing up with cookies or something. 

"You're so skinny, I'll be back in no time," Kari says, and that's the right answer. Klinger feels a little better about himself, and the room eases up a little bit. Hell, Kari's even traveling with the team on the road trip. The trainers are being cautious, but Kari feels fine. He's not hurt.

He still stabs lunch with a little more force than it requires.

Jack Campbell passes him and awkwardly waves. He knows the only reason that he's here is that the trainers want to keep a closer eye on Kari. But Campbell's up to back up Antti tonight, and the kid's nervous. Kari knows what it's like to backslide, but he is the wrong person to say that it'll be okay. 

"Good luck," Kari says, instead. 

Reeser shooes him out of official tape review because they're still worried about his exposure to screens, but he feels fine. Kari grabs a protein bar from some bowl to settle his nerves. He'll be good to play next week at the most. They don't need to treat him like he's fragile. 

Big Rig offers him a water. "We scratches got to stick together, don't we?"

Kari chuckles. Rig doesn't ask him about his head, which is a relief at this point. He takes the water. 

"You want to bet you'll be back before I am?" Kari even thinks that might be true. They'll want to monitor him some more. "They'll switch some of you out for tomorrow."

Rig nods. "Probably not me, though. Neems might," and the frustrations of someone who isn't allowed to play through his mistakes show even more when that someone is over two meters tall. Patrik waves a little from across the room at the mention of his name. 

Travis walks in and shakes his head. "Listen to these children, feeling sorry for themselves. Can you believe it, Karps? Old men before they're twenty five."

The defensemen protest. Kari smiles and says, "Old souls." 

Kari watches the game, of course. Halfway through the third period, Kari makes his way down from the pressbox. Patrik nearly spills something on Kari's suit, but his reflexes are good enough to avoid it. 

Players don't want to be pushed around by their goalie, but as they all know, you don't stop a goalie. Most of the time, all they want to do is let Kari do his job. His defensemen are supposed to help him, but Kari's already seeing the growing pains from the young ones. 

Kari pushes past the other ones, too. "Hey, Karps!" Demers says in surprise. "When'd you get down here?"

Campbell barely grumbles an acknowledgement when Kari gets past him. Kari mills around the edge of the ice, since he hadn't thought to grab a pair of skates. Antti wears a terrible blank expression for someone who made the right saves at the right time. 

"You won, cheer up." Kari gives Antti a (somewhat affectionate, if he's honest) pat on the head. 

Antti bats at him with his blocker, and Kari ducks. As always, Antti's acerbic. "Did you see the bit in the middle?" 

"Yeah, the second period was not so good." His save on Edler's going to make highlight reels. It was a phenomenal windmill, he doesn't say. Edler's going to see that in his nightmares. Kari nods. "But you lived. We'll talk about it. I saw something." 

They brush shoulders as they walk. Kari smiles. "Not bad, not bad." 

Antti acts nonchalant. He lets Kari pepper him with questions into the room. Antti grimaces when Kari mentions the OT save, but Kari adds, "It got the job done."

That's what matters, even if it was his ugliest save of the night. 

"Tape review tonight?" asks Antti, who draws out the process of rolling down his socks. Uncharacteristic of him, really, but Kari supposes that's one way to try to deter the reporters. Kari's not complaining about his attempt, and it looks like they might even make it out unaccosted. 

"Let me take you to dinner at least." Kari only half-jokes. He doesn't even rib Antti about being a bad influence or that Reese will give him a disappointed look if they go over anything other than diagrams on paper. 

At least he knows Kari's head's in the right place.

A reporter catches Kari long enough to ask him how his head's doing, and Antti's there to wait for him after he finishes reassuring the media that he's not dead, already changed into some street clothes. Kari feels a little overdressed.

"You’re not driving home," Antti insists, brusquely. "Hand me your keys." 

"I don't have a concussion," Kari protests, and rightly so. Antti let Kari drive him to morning skate--nothing's changed about Kari since then. "I can drive." 

Antti's unimpressed. Kari hands them over. 

Kari normally complains about Antti’s driving, and today is not one of those days that he feels magnanimous enough to shut up and go along with it. Though he doesn’t complain about how Antti opens the passenger door for him, but Kari does grumble, "You better not scratch my car." 

"If you complain about it the whole time, I'll drive into one of the trees in your yard." Antti doesn't mean it, but he revs the engine just enough to get on Kari's nerves. It must be a gift. 

It doesn't stop Antti from insisting that he's driving them to Love Field, either. Kari will deal with that later. 

There's a bottle of liquor that Kari didn't buy standing on his counter when he gets in. Kari moves to opens it. He's not going to be the one playing, anyway.

"Wait," Kari realizes when Antti closes the door behind him. "You left your car at the rink." 

"Are you sick of me already?" he asks. There's only two options at this point: let Antti take Kari's car and drive home or--and if Kari's honest, this is the more appealing situation, drink and deal with it in the morning. When they have an early flight. 

It's not quite tape review. 

Kari takes out two glasses. 

* * *

Talking to Razor is always such a surreal experience. Kari expects it, though he's not going to have much to say, at all, but Razor needs to find something to fill out broadcasts with. Kari hears him sometimes, in the highlights, but he really doesn't have an opinion. 

Well, Razor's funny, at least. At least he doesn't ask about Kari's head. Instead, he asks, "So, do we have any rookie stories yet?" 

"Uh, Janny's staying with Klinger, so ask him," Kari volunteers. 

"The new faces are fitting in well? No one's gotten a bucket of water thrown on them?" Razor pushes up his glasses. He concentrates, flipping the pages in a small notebook. "I hear we got new pranksters." 

"Not yet." Kari shrugs. That's more of a rookie prank than anything. "I'd watch out for Faks," he adds, once he's had time to think about it. "I've seen him talking to Rous." 

Razor laughs. "Don't want him to learn bad habits, do we? Not another red herring for culpability?" 

"No." Kari nods, knitting his eyebrows together. Razor makes him question his grasp of English at the best of times. "Though, he's staying with Hemmer, so he's not going to dye his pool black." 

"That's good," Razor says. He believes just as much as anyone that rookies shouldn't be left to themselves. "Speaking of pools, I heard that Tyler had some fulsome guests in his?" 

"It wasn't us." At least, Kari thinks so. "Is this about ducks in his yard? Because if it was, it wasn't." 

"So someone did put big inflatable ducks in his yard!" Razor sounds ecstatic, like this was a mystery he had to solve. He checks his watch. "Ah, Kari, I shouldn't waste much more of your time. Any plans soon?" 

"Just lunch with some guys." Kari gestures vaguely. "Dinner with Antti." 

"I'm going to ask off the record." Razor closes his notebook, just in case Kari didn't get the message. Razor lifts his eyebrows, like he expects Kari to confide in him or something. "Goalie to goalie. Mano a mano. How do you feel about the tandem working out?" 

"Everyone expected us to hate each other," Kari supplies. "I don't think we do." 

"Really?" 

"I think we could play great hockey together." Kari shrugs, focusing on the fly that's buzzing around. Antti's mastered that far-off look that scares off reporters, but Kari doesn't think he's quite intimidating enough. He coughs. "It's complicated." 

* * *

Antti taps on Kari's mask after a loss. 

"It's a new year. Get the fuck out of there," he says, and then Antti walks away, like it's so easy to stop. To stop thinking about what the team needed him to do and what he didn't do. That he could walk out of the room when he could see everyone else be so frustrated. 

Fuck him, Kari thinks. Some help he turned out to be, leaving Kari like that. He wanted to be alone, but it rankles him. He has half a mind to--to what, Kari doesn't quite know. He undresses hastily, roughly shoving his gear aside. 

Fuck him. Kari lives through the post-game shower in disgruntled rage. Back at his stall, Kari looks down and sees his gear around him, some of his stuff neatly stowed away into his bag. He grabs it, heading off. Antti's waiting for him in the car, not even saying a word when Kari gets in the passenger seat. Honestly, Kari forgot Antti had driven him to the arena.

"Are you going to insult my car again?" Antti asks. "I could let you call a taxi." 

“The engine still sounds like shit.” The answer is automatic by now; something to hide behind, something expected. “But it’ll do.” 

When Antti swears next to Kari after _his_ terrible loss against the Rangers, it’s not the same. They've both had their losses, but it's not the same feeling as when Kari's been out there. Antti doesn't look too broken up about it, but maybe that's because of their record. 

Antti shakes his head, grumbles a little. “All I ask is they score some fucking goals. It's their job.” 

“Let me know when they get their heads back,” Kari says. He’s sympathetic, and it hurts to see the loss, but, “It could be worse. They could--“ He closes his mouth. No need to tempt the hockey gods. He knows that Antti will be past the loss by tomorrow-or at least he will seem to. 

It’s something that Kari envies, sometimes.

Antti shakes his head. “No use.” 

Kari shrugs. He surveys the room, but the rest of the guys don't seem in the best shape, either. What can Kari say? “Anyway, it’s your turn to buy the beer. You drank the last of it.”

“Get better snacks. Ones that aren't as salty.” Antti scratches the beginning of his scruff. “So that I don’t have to drown every bite.”

"You could drink the milk in the fridge. It's yours." 

“Hey, none of that, lovebirds,” Demers exuberantly says, with more energy than anyone who’s just lost a game should have. “Give us something to work with.”

“They talk about groceries,” Esa timidly discloses to the room. They’ve called him up, trying to spark something, anything with new blood. He adds, after a thought, “Also goaltending, but I think we all knew that."

“Seriously?” Demers frowns. “That’s fucking boring. Kevin, why keep me in suspense the whole season?” 

“Because they’re boring old men,” Jyrki answers, a little grumpily. Technically, it’s only been half a season. “And you’re paranoid. They don’t talk shit about you.” He suddenly realizes what just came out of his mouth. He goes a little deer-eyed. “Uh.”

Fiddler pats him on the back. “This boring old man agrees. They have worse joints than I do.”

“It’s true.” Kari sagely nods, but he can’t hide his grin. Then Spezza starts giggling, and everyone’s at least chuckling along before they go back to being hockey players.

* * *

In addition to being a boring old man, Kari's unsettled. Antti doesn't meet him at center ice during warmups. He doesn't come out to skate before the anthem, either. Kari takes off his helmet, sets it down on the ice, and hears Selena Rae sing. 

He plays like shit. One shootout win doesn't really count, it's hardly a good win. 

 

The California trip doesn't help at all. When they get home, Kari can do nothing but watch from the tunnel, after that loss to the Kings. Kari plays like shit, and January is almost over, and Antti's always liked playing in the AAC. 

Antti's officially avoiding him. They don't talk, not even about hockey. Kari finds himself checking for a message, a time, that doesn’t come. Antti may not have been loud dinner company, but he was steady. 

Tape review is more terse than usual--but maybe it's the silence at being face-to-face with video proof of their mistakes. Reese walks them through what's wrong with their positioning, what was wrong with that rebound, why that screen worked.

Kari nods. 

Antti takes a drink of water and picks the next tape.

It never ends. Kari likes being part of a team, likes talking to his backup, likes talking to Antti. Kari frowns, listening to the sound of Rig trying to be stealthy and failing, hiding from someone or another. Kari packs up his things. 

Then, for what seems like the millionth time, they lose to Colorado. Antti loses to Colorado, to be precise. No one in the room is in the mood to say anything, not even a stupid joke. But it is then that Kari catches Antti waiting in the parking lot--probably for him. Maybe. 

"Kari," Antti calls out. It reminds Kari, a little, of when he was young and skating on a pond.

Kari shakes the thought away. "You're talking to me now?" 

"Yes." He answers brusquely. Antti shrugs. "I thought that--" he pauses, takes a breath. "You can't stop the puck if you're distracted." 

"And I'm a distraction?" Kari goes still. Antti meets his eyes, and well, the silence is answer enough. The moment seems to go on for too long, but there's no real words. Kari's a distraction. An obstacle that stops Antti from playing his best hockey. Kari's never bought into the belief that life outside hockey was a distraction or that hockey was the whole world, but he's never been in this position before. 

"You're my One," Antti says softly, like it's supposed to mean something. He swallows. Kari's not sure it does. Kari's not sure that Antti knows what he means when he says that. "Ignoring you didn't help, anyway." 

On one hand, Kari wants to think it should have worked--it's easier to justify things like that when you're winning. What do you need from a soulmate? It's a big question. Antti certainly doesn't need a distraction, and Kari doesn't have an answer. Kari turns, makes way to leave or at least past Antti to get to Kari's car. "I'll go, then." 

Antti grabs his wrist, and Kari can't shake him. He turns around. 

"It was a mistake," he says looking up to meet Kari's eyes, and Kari knows he doesn't admit that lightly. 

"A mistake," Kari repeats. "Is that it? Is that all?" And there, Kari thinks, is the real crux of the problem. They might be.

"I'm sure the media is starting to think so," Antti replies, drily. "So I hurt your fucking feelings. Anyone ever tell you you're too dramatic when you're playing like shit?" 

"You're the one who says that it's a mistake," argues Kari. But no one really has--no one ever wants to confront an upset goalie. "This is a terrible apology."

"I know." Antti looks him in the eyes. 

It's still a terrible apology, but Kari's not sure Antti owes Kari anything.

"I think I owe you dinner," he tells Kari. "We could make it breakfast?" 

* * *

Kari's not actually sure who suggests taking an informal team vacation, but the idea catches on and spreads. It's not that different from other years, to suggest going down to Cabo. When Tyler finds out about their vacation plans, he clutches his chest and says, “I’m wounded.”

“Sorry Segs,” Rous says, swinging an arm around him. “You and the captain have to go to defend our honor. We’ll toast you.”

“Only if he’s buying,” Jordie chirps. He ruffles Jamie’s hair for good measure. “Do us proud, Chubbs.”

“You only wish you were coming,” Jamie says, weakly. He has that dumb smile on his face, the one that makes people think he can’t string together two thoughts.

“Oh, yeah, and we’ll suffer on the beach with drinks and our wives,” Spezz counters. Generously, he adds, “Hell, I’ll even buy a dinner.”

Everyone books their hotels and their flights, and by their last game before the break, the meeting points have been laid out, Rous had taken credit for rookies planning romantic horserides on the beach, and Kari had barely discussed this with Antti beyond asking him, "Are you going?" 

So when Goose simply says, while waiting for a shower, “Hey, remember, sex on a beach is a terrible idea. Sand. Everywhere,” it lightens the mood a little, gets the guys to laugh. The break should do them some good. 

Rous even looks up from where he'd been frowning, since he was why they'd took back Klinger's goal, and chirps, "Maybe how you do it. There's a trick." 

Someone pelts Rous with a wadded up sock. 

A week off doesn't help them. Kari doesn't have a win by the time the All Star Game comes around. Jamie and Tyler are stuck in Nashville, the team goes to the beach during the break. It’s Cabo for the rest of them. Or, most of them, Kari amends.

The flight gives Kari enough time to think. The last time he went to Cabo was last year, with almost the same team. And before that, there was that time where he ran into Antti.

Kari wonders what would have happened if came to Cabo that year with a Timer, if theirs would have gone off when they ran into each other in that little bar. The people around them would have clapped; maybe, in a different circumstance, they'd have it all figured out by now, unshadowed by the context of the season and their jobs looming over them. 

But that's not a them that exists. 

Dinner is noisy, but that's what happens when there's a dozen hockey players plus girlfriends and wives. After dinner, the guys all pull away to go to bars to avoid as much sun as humanly possible, take shirtless pictures, or try to plant ideas in the rookies’ heads. Kari doesn't have plans, but Antti simply asks, "Is your hotel closer than mine?" 

This, this is almost as easy as last time in Cabo. Kari's room is closer, and the scent of the ocean air follows them the whole way back. 

 

When Eaks knocks on Kari's door in the morning, Kari scrambles to make sure he doesn't forget anything. Also, Kari supposes he should brush his teeth. Kari hears the click of the door opening. "Uh, Nemo? Is Kari here? We're going fishing."

"I'm here," Kari calls, and he thinks it makes it through the bathroom acoustics. 

"Fishing should be good," Eaks says, when Kari finally steps out of his room. "It's a beautiful day. But seriously, what's up with the hat?"

"What's up with your sunscreen?" Kari weakly retorts. He's never really gotten the hang of the chirping game. Kari adjusts his hat. It's sensible. Kari knows he's never going to be one of those guys who can lounge around in the sun shirtless. He'll keep a hat and shirt on and come out with no peeling skin. "It's a fishing hat."

"Right." Eaks shrugs, giving it up as a goalie thing, probably.

It's Kari turn to frown in confusion when Eaks wants to name their boat the Bill Collector. "Really?" 

"Maybe we'll catch ducks. That'd make the news? That'd pay the bill." The whole team stars in the news occasionally, but this doesn't occur to Eaks. 

Kari also thinks they're more likely to catch dinner, but hell, if Eaks can catch a duck out here, it would be worth it. Kari stifles a laugh. "Okay, sure, you catch me here a duck, and I pay your rent this month." 

No ducks, but plenty of big fish. Kari's surprised when he reels in the first one, nearly thirty pounds. Once one's caught, the others come easily. 

"Sushi," Eaks declares, looking at their catch. "Think this is enough for the team?" 

"It's more than my weight," Kari observes, though he may be exaggerating a little. He wipes the sweat off of his neck. "Should be. Unless someone's a seal."

Truth be told, actually fishing is only a small part of what 'going fishing' means to people like them. The other part should be relaxing from hockey, but Eaks asks Kari, "You ever want to go to the All Star Game?" 

Kari laughs. He's been for the Youngstars game. However they choose them, Kari's not an All Star goalie. "I've been to the Olympics. That's better." 

"Amen to that," Eaks says, and cracks open a fresh bottle for a toast.

"I also get to rest my creaking bones." 

"Aw, Karps, you're not that old." He unreels a little more fishing line. "This break could be better for us than the last one. No practice, the beach, good food, pretty girls. Or," Eaks backtracks almost immediately, "I guess the last one's off the table for you. No offense to Nemo, but yeah." 

One day, Kari is going to get really offended by that. But for now, he says, "You're not wrong." And he isn't. Antti is not a supermodel to hang off Kari's arm. Kari wouldn't want him to be. 

* * *

Kari's father comes on the road trip. He wasn't going to, after the last time, since his English still isn't good enough to navigate a road trip without a translator, but he changed his mind. Kari comes to meet him from the airport. 

"This is the last time," he tells Kari, as Kari loads his bags into the back of his car. "I'm too old for this."

Kari nods. He doesn't need his parents to come visit him anymore. The father's trip is the only time he gets to see his dad during the season. It's not like he's twenty two anymore, not like his parents need to make time to see him. He has phone calls to his mother, infrequently. There's the offseason, too. 

Kari closes his trunk. He toys with his wrist again, but only for a moment. His Timer glows in the dark of the parking garage, and Kari can feel the exact moment his father spots it. 

Also, he says, "That's one of those Timers." Kari's father gives him a look, one that says he doesn't believe it. "You didn't tell your mother you got a Timer."

"No, I didn't," Kari says because he didn't. He should tell her, sometime.

"Well, I expected her to be an American," his father says, contemplating. "How long is left?" 

Strangely enough, he doesn't even question Kari choosing to get a Timer. Maybe it's the resigned expression of an old man who will never understand technology. Kari's not quite sure his father knows how to completely use his smart phone, so that may be it.

Kari takes a breath. He hadn't considered it before, but evidently, his father had. "We met before the season. Not an American, either." 

"Not American?" he repeats.

Kari nods.

"Finnish then? Or Canadian?" His father frowns. "She's not someone's sister, is she?"

"Finnish, yes," Kari answers, and he tries to hold back the unsettling thought of dating a teammate's sister. That just seems wrong.

"Did it happen when you visited us this summer?" Thankfully, he refrains from asking why Kari's parents didn't get to meet his One. "Or on the plane? Where is she from?"

"From Vantaa." Kari sticks to the facts, and maybe his father will stop asking about it.

"That's hardly any distance at all." The silence that follows is pensive. Kari expects his father to say something, anything, but when he doesn't, it leaves him flailing. 

"We don't, we don't really get along." It's not much of an explanation. Kari's apologetic, but he's so glad that he doesn't have to look at his father. He looks in the rearview mirror instead, waiting.

"Ah." Kari's father clears his throat. "What's the point of a Timer if you don't like her?"

"I like him plenty. That's not the _problem._ " Kari looks horrified, though he doesn't know if it's because he's finally said it or that he just said it to his father. He tries to back out of his parking space calmly, but there's two cars behind him. He should just stop talking, he thinks. That's the way to go.

"Kärppä," and here, here is the moment that Kari doesn't know what to expect. There's a long pause. Kari manages to exit the parking garage before his father says, "I won't say anything about grandchildren then."

Kari drives fifteen minutes into the silence when his father puts his hands in his pockets. The rustle breaks whatever tension's been building. Kari lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. 

His father asks, slowly, "Well, does he not think you're good enough for him?"

Kari wants to say, "No," but he shouldn't dig himself any deeper. He still doesn't know where he stands on that front. And for another thing, that's not the reaction that Kari expected. He's not used to his father asking about his love life either, but he's trying.

"What, you're rich, an athlete, and you're not ugly. What more can he ask?" Kari's father musters enough will to ask, since Kari's not giving him a name, not giving him much to work with. 

It's meant as a joke, but Kari can't help but think. "A Cup ring," and he doesn't know if his father hears him, but it wasn't really meant to be an answer anyway. Kari swallows. His throat must be dry. The laugh tastes bitter in his throat.

Kari's been sluggish in practice, and he can see the eyes of the coaches taking notes, like always. It shouldn't bother him, but--Antti's started the last six games. At this point, they might just ride him until something breaks. They both want to play as many games as they can; six is the longest they've put one of them on. It was easier, before, when it seemed to be hand-off every few games, less if one of them wasn't ready, but it felt like a real split. 

Kari gets the start against Minnesota, and maybe it's because they can see the strain Antti's under, and he needs a break. Mikko Koivu texts Kari, saying, _I'll try not to embarrass your team in front of your dads,_ and Kari doesn't have an answer. 

Kari's trying, he is. 

Also, Mikko Koivu does not embarrass them in front of their dads. 

"You did good out there," Kari hears, once everyone meets up after the game. A part of Kari never tires of hearing praise from his father. He doesn't think that goes away, if Vern and Sharpy and fathers over to their left are any example. 

Kari smiles and laughs a little. 

Unfortunately, the Finns in the room start to gravitate to a corner, partly because their fathers are more comfortable with silence with the occasional Finnish word thrown in and partly because Bertil Janmark says something inflammatory, which has the Swedes all in a flurry. 

Antti and Kari share a look, and Kari can't tell what it means. But Jyrki looks unassuming and didn't bring his father along, so their fathers take the chance to talk to someone who isn't a goalie. It's awkward--no one wants to talk about how Antti's out for Kari's job, and at this point in the season, there still isn't a real starter. 

Kari doesn't mind splitting the check with Antti, though, when they get sidled to a table with their fathers and a couple of rookies who don't have anyone. 

It's dinner; Kari's father doesn't break out any embarrassing stories about him as a child, so that's a win. Antti's face mirrors his father's, and Kari now understands where he gets his impassiveness from. But there's no talk of Timers at the table, and Kari can see relief in Antti's eyes. 

They can survive the weekend unscathed. Or, at least, that’s what Kari thinks that little look that Antti gives him means. 

* * *

Kris Russell walks into the locker room in February, just in time for a pre-game player’s meeting.

Kari doesn’t know the guy. What he does know is that there is a Finn-shaped silence that isn’t there anymore. It’s a business, he knows, and he wasn’t especially close to Jyrki, but it hurts a little.

Scevs knows the guy, though. He even comes up and hugs him.

“You know each other?” Ales asks, uncharacteristically curious. Maybe Kari’s being uncharitable. Ales is just a guy who wants to go home and sleep and not be bothered by his dogs too much. It's not his fault his face looks annoyed at the world.

“We grew up together,” Scevs explains, before giving Russell a quick rundown of the room. Kari waves when he’s introduced. “So, D-men sit on that wall. Don’t pay attention to Daddy, he lies.”

“I’m really hurt,” Demers expounds. “I speak the perfect truth.”

"I'm heard stories," Russell says. "I don't believe that for a second." 

"You piss someone on Calgary off, Daddy?" Klinger asks. "Fight a guy?" 

"I'm just infamous." Demers stretches out an arm over Klinger. He beams. "One day, you can get to my level." 

“Don’t actually punch a ref, Klinger.” Jamie takes the moment to try to dispense serious advice, but Goose shoving at his shoulder ruins the effect. 

Russell is a nice guy, Kari thinks, or at least he should be. He’s only here as a rental, and they all know it; there’s not a real use in getting to know the guy. Kris Russell is a defenseman; he used to play for the Flames. They gave up Jyrki to get him. He has a Timer tucked under a band. 

A rookie bothers Russell about it once, like they tend to do. Not everyone wants to see a countdown every day of their life. Not everyone wants to look at a row of dashes. It’s not exactly rude, but then again, what does Kari know about living with a countdown? 

“I don’t want to think about it,” Russell tells Faks. “If she’s out there, she’s out there.” 

Faks takes the chance to tell the story about how he met Jaida. He doesn’t mean anything by it. It devolves into the guys sharing stories about meeting their One, to take the load off of Russell. The guys who married their One talk about that. The guys without Timers—and now that Kari’s tallying, he’s never realized they’ve been a dying minority in the room—well, they shake their heads and share their worst date stories. 

Kari doesn’t say a thing more than, “I didn’t have to wait long. We’re still getting used to it,” and well, it’s not telling Russell, but the rest of the room nods. 

“Right,” Rig realizes. “One half always has to wait for the other one.” He looks down at his own wrist, ticking under a brown band. “I hope my One wasn’t blank for long. That would suck for her.” 

Kari catches Antti rubbing a thumb over his Timer, and in that miraculous way of his, avoiding saying anything on the subject. 

* * *

They're in Nashville, and the whole locker room winces when Kari comes in.

No one says anything about losing this game, not after Kari got fucking hit in the dick. From how silent it is, someone could think they just came from a funeral, not a hockey game. Kari doesn't know if this is better or worse than everyone ignoring his pain. He sits down, tenderly, but also slowly. 

“Glad to see you’re still alive,” Rous says, crossing himself. It breaks open the floodgates of chatty hockey players. “I know I couldn’t. You’re a brave man, Kari. I just, uh, I don't know. It must hurt like a fucking truck hit you.”

“Did your life flash behind your eyes?” asks Klinger, but he quickly amends, “No, wait, don’t tell me. But I hope it was the good parts.” 

“Balls of steel, man.” Jordie holds out a fist. He also shakes his head at his own wording. Kari bumps it anyway, mostly because it’s the polite thing to do. 

“You know, if they were steel, I don’t think it would be as painful,” Demers says, thoughtfully. “Can’t you get a robot dick nowadays?” 

“Not the time, Daddy,” hisses Big Rig. “Hasn’t the man been through enough?” 

“Well, Weber didn’t go to the All Star Game for no reason.” Kari desperately needs to change the subject before someone jokingly calls a plastic surgeon or something. It doesn’t even get nervous chuckles. Several people nod, agreeing and pointedly not thinking about how fast that shot record must be. They don’t even make a crack about his sex life. That’s how concerned they are. 

All the guys shoot him sorry looks and give Kari sympathetic shoulder pats. There is no good way to tell a guy, “I hope your dick isn’t broken,” but most of the team tries, anyway. Goose even says, "There's no shame if you need to be on IR, Kari." It’s awkward as hell, but they all mean well. 

Kari doesn't get any kind words from Antti, but then again, Kari's not sure he needs any. He only asks, "Do you have ice and beer at home? You need it." 

It’s a rhetorical question, and one that doesn't matter, since they're not going home until tomorrow. Antti helped him unload his last grocery run. Also, Kari’s knows that there’s several bottles in his liquor cabinet that he has no memory of putting there. 

Kari shrugs. "I'm going to take a shower." He tries to get up but winces a little. "Maybe the trainer first." 

“You want me to tell Pekka that his team aiming for the balls is a bad thing?” Antti asks, waiting for Kari so they can be shuffled onto the bus. 

Kari grumbles, “It’s not funny.” Though, if Antti wants to guilt Pekka Rinne into sending a fruit basket or wine, he’s not going to give it back.

It's noisy on the bus, but not as noisy as it could be, considering everyone wants some measure of sleep after that shitshow of a game. The trek to their hotel rooms isn't any better.

Antti doesn’t let him get up once Kari’s settles down on the couch. Kari’s a little offended, but stays down. It doesn’t really hurt anymore, unless he moves too fast. He checks his phone. There’s… a lot of texts about his dick. He’s not even sure he got this many about the Olympics. Kari can hear Antti fucking around behind him. There’s some clatter and the unmistakable sharpness of a, “ _Perkele_ ” when Antti steps on something. 

"Careful," Kari says. "Nashville can't kill both of us." 

Antti fiddles with his phone for a little bit, to the point where Kari is half-expecting Pekka Rinne to come and apologize for his captain. When Antti's done, he settles down on the couch next to Kari, opens his mouth slightly, and-- 

“If you say you’re going to kiss it better, get out of my room,” Kari says, shifting in his seat. He really doesn't need ice. The trainer told him to see how he's walking in the morning, but Kari's reasonably sure nothing broke. He feels a twinge. Okay, maybe he still wants ice. 

“I won’t.” Antti pauses, leaning over the back of the couch. “Are you sick of people talking about your dick yet?” He grimaces. “I am.” 

“What, you don’t like people talking about my dick?” Kari thinks about it. It didn’t occur to Kari before that someone on the team would also say something to Antti about his dick, but, well, they would. Kari doesn’t know what to do with that. 

“Not really.” Kari doesn’t know what to do with Antti’s answer, either. Antti pours him a shot, and Kari doesn't want to know if that's from the mini-bar or if Antti just brought some in his bag. He hands it over to Kari. Kari just looks at it, the clear liquid settling, the ripples waning. He hears Antti pour another for himself and say, "You know I was ready to go back in for you. You didn't have to stay in." 

"It was going to be a shitty game. You didn't need that." Kari wants to say he's just stubborn, that he needed to see a game to the end, but there wasn't anyway the team was going to rally for Kari if he left the ice, but that would be lying. Also, he doesn't mention, he still played better than Antti did. "It didn't need to be shittier for both of us." 

"That's stupid," Antti says, more forcefully than Kari expected. Antti was playing like shit, and it would have been a worse loss if he went back in. Kari doesn't believe they would have rallied into something respectable. No one had a reason to; they played to almost not embarrass themselves. "We're in this together. " 

Kari takes the moment to knock back his drink. Antti meets his eyes and does the same. Kari leans back, and their shoulders touch. 

"Stop getting pulled. It seems like I get hurt every time," Kari says, handing Antti another drink. Twice is a tradition in hockey--and while Klinger'd finally stopped apologizing around Christmas, normal hockey takes enough out of him without adding more risk. 

"You should ask for hazard pay," Antti jokes, and Kari knows it's a joke by the slight smile he's given up on hiding. 

"Or you could just play better." After a moment's pause, Kari says, "I'd take it, but it depends on what it is." 

"I could kiss it better, if you want." Antti's already put his glass down, already moving to the edge of his seat. 

And Kari's not stupid, he knows that Antti's taking the out. Kari's almost relieved. So he says, "Leave." 

Antti does. 

* * *

They win against Chicago, 5-2, and it's a great feeling, for Sharpy and Oduya. It's weird playing against your old team, your old colors when you were so loved, but Kari's never really felt that. He's never had to face the Thrashers, just the remnants of whoever they managed to move to Winnipeg. They definitely didn't want him, by the end. 

He catches Antti's gaze from across the room. It's different for goalies, anyway, and a win against Chicago is something to celebrate in any case. Even, Kari knows, if it would have been sweeter if _he_ won against a team that didn't want to do anything with him after his rookie year. 

The room's into it more than they are. 

"So, does Crawford hate us yet?" Scevs wonders, a goofy smile on his face. Kari has to admit there's a special pleasure in watching your team chase a guy out of his net. "That's twice this season." 

Rous claps him on the back. "Next time, you score. Another nail in the block. If he already doesn't, then he will. Or Patty, do that hat trick again." 

"Sure, Rous. I'll get right on it." Patty says. He changes the music and cracks his knuckles.

Klinger comes over and tries to get Kari to do a complicated handshake, and Kari winces when he fails halfway through. Across the room, Goose has a devious looking grin on his face, and Kari can't quite catch what he's saying to Spezz, but it's obviously no good. The problem with being on this team, Kari thinks, is that they all think they're funny. 

Lindy stops the chatter and conversation to say, "Great start to a homestand, boys! I know you can keep playing like that." He claps for them, a little, before he leaves. The room is still riled up, still exuberant and celebrating a win, and the harsh word can come later. 

"Alright, rest up, boys," Jamie says, a little hysterical. Since he's recovering from joking around with Tyler and Spezz, it's not the worst tone. He manages to sound a little more captainly when he continues, "We play the Blues tomorrow. Sleep. Party when we win tomorrow." 

"At your house?" Tyler eggs on. "Because we can put that on the board." 

Before they leave the room, Antti thumps Kari twice on the chest like he's done for most of the year. Kari feels a little bit stupid for not realizing that he's tapping over Kari's heart. 

"Not bad at all," Antti says, succinctly. He leave Kari behind to blink and wonder what the hell that means. It feels like it should mean something. Honestly, it feels like all of this should mean something. Maybe it's one of those things that they tell Kari he misses. 

* * *

Before one game, Tyler asks, “So, Kari, can I ask you something?” in a way that Kari knows means he’s going to ask something really stupid.

Because Kari is a nice guy, he nods. Other guys are shaving down sticks or playing Donkeyball or going through their routines, but Kari will listen to Tyler’s very stupid question. 

"I'm a good looking guy, yeah?"

“Uh, Seggy,” Kari honestly doesn’t know what to say to this. “I’m sorry, but you’re-“ he tries to think of a thing to say that wouldn’t hurt Tyler's pride. “Skinny. And Canadian.” He shrugs. “I guess you score goals, if you like that sort of thing.”

Tyler bursts out laughing. “Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t like that too much.”

So it was the right thing to say! Kari smiles at him. Sometimes egos are so fragile.

“But, uh.” Tyler coughs for a moment. “Do you think everyone should have a Timer? I mean.” He rolls his shoulders. “You and Nemo seem pretty alright.”

“I don’t understand.” 

“I don’t like the idea of being tied down, but everyone’s going for one. Looking for the One. You know, to know if someone’s their One.” Tyler looks around, stretches his face into one of those ridiculous expressions. He’s nervous, like Kari’s going to judge. "You know. Man, don’t tell anyone.”

“Secret’s safe. You think magic?” Kari asks. He scoffs, though he wonders why is Tyler asking him. “I met Antti when we were kids. Could have been friends, maybe, but-“ Kari makes a nebulous gesture. Sometimes he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “Then we met again. And again.”

Kari takes a moment to think about it. It occurs to him that it would be weirder if he didn’t like Antti. He frowns. “Okay, and then we meet again. And then Stars signed him, and he’d still be here if I hadn’t gotten this.” He taps the Timer for good measure. “It didn’t change anything.”

If Kari hadn't gotten a Timer, they'd be in the exact same place. Huh. They’d still argue over the specifics of goaltending, spend too much of tape review trying to decide what to focus on, and-Kari doesn’t know when he started liking Antti, but he doesn’t remember why he ever thought he wouldn’t.

Tyler looks thoughtful, if such a thing was possible. “So you’re a regular love story, then. Because of the Timers? Spezz has his whole 'married with a bajillion kids thing.' Matty likes his girl more than I've ever seen anyone. You two, I don't know, seem normal.”

Kari bursts out laughing. “No, never. Plastic can’t make you do anything.” He frowns, though, since it's not the first time Tyler's said he thinks they're normal. Goalies usually don't get that benefit of the doubt. It's refreshing, but Kari knows Tuukka Rask was Tyler's first experience with an NHL goalie. Anyone with less intense eyebrows must seem normal to him.

“Still, if you want, get one in the summer. We still got playoffs.”

That’s the strangest part of this conversation. The teams has the playoffs to look forward to.

* * *

Dallas wins fifty games.

Kari and Antti end the regular season with twenty-five wins a piece. Their save percentages are nearly identical, all told. Kari’s never one for obsessing about stats; there’s only one that matters, after all, and maybe a wish for a goal for him on top of that, but it’s something that he thinks about as he's driving back from the rink.

Kari taps impatiently on the steering wheel, waiting for the light to turn. 

Antti fiddles with his radio, turning it to some country music. “What’s the point of a fancy system if you can’t even change the station?” he says, trying to head off the grimace that crosses Kari's face. He continues to change the station, up and down the waveband. Antti takes a little longer to change from The Ticket, playing their praises after the night Antti's had. 

Kari can’t even bring himself to complain.

Antti's house is a little ugly, but not too ugly for something in the neighborhood. Kari's past the point of telling him this, short of offering to paint it a different color. Kari walks him to his door because it's polite--because he still has so much energy from the win--and also to unceremoniously sit down on the nearest couch. 

Antti rolls his eyes, just the tiniest amount. 

"Do we have the same rules?" Kari asks. He wants to know what they’re working with going into the playoffs. 

"What rules?" Antti's question is utterly unhelpful. He pauses, trying to figure out what Kari’s saying. “Are you being serious?”

“To this thing,” Kari says, eloquently. Now he’s lost the thread of it. If there weren’t rules before, what was it? What is this now? He tries again. “You know, to what we’re doing.”

There. Now he’s said it, and it’s strange, to hear the word off his own tongue. He doesn’t say, _You’re my One_ like it means anything. Kari still doesn’t know. 

“Was it all just post-game ritual?” Antti wonders, finally forgoing the act that Kari's trying to talk about something else but their Timers, but how they're supposed to be fated or good to each other. He turns his head; Kari can’t look him in the eye. Kari has the sudden feeling that he’s said something wrong.

“No.” Kari must look confused enough that Antti moves to take a closer look. It dawns on him that everything could be a superstition and nothing more. Their slump should have cured him of that thought, but who knows? Kari takes a breath, says, “Of course not. You're--” and the words stick in his throat.

“I didn’t think there were rules,” Antti continues. If Kari’s any judge, he looks a little hurt. Fuck, this was not how this conversation was supposed to go. “Did we need any?”

“Well, I wasn’t going house-shopping with you,” Kari says. “I drew the line there.” He looks around for dramatic effect. "And your decorator's done a better job than I would have." 

“You might as well have. You keep complaining about my stairs.” Which is true, but Kari doesn’t see why he has to bring this up now, of all moments. 

“One day, you’ll trip on them and be put on IR.” Kari also doesn’t think this is the time to also mention that Antti has ugly rugs. 

“Tell me if I’m wrong,” Antti says. “But we’re on the same team. We go out to dinner once or twice a week. We fuck.” He takes a breath, pauses before adding softly, “It doesn’t need to be complicated.” 

“So that’s it?” Kari asks. He turns away, makes way to leave, and if Antti answers, well, Kari doesn’t hear it. He stifles the memory of Antti saying, _You're my One_. 

They’ve got a game to play. 

* * *

They do have a game to play; hockey never really ends. It's practice and more practice and then playoffs. Reeser can't keep the emotions off his face during practice: "I'm proud of you, both of you," he says, and then blows the whistle to make them run through the drill again. 

Kari wins the start. He burns with pride. He feels like he can win. 

The media is everywhere. It feels like if he turns into any given corner, he'll trip over a reporter. Kari insinuates to one of them that he might have slashed Antti's tires. It's a joke, and the media goes nuts about it. They never like any of his other jokes this much. 

"I'm the only one who knows you would," Antti says later, with a trace of a grin. He'd played along more than Kari thought he would. Kari expected silences, a meaningful but utterly useless pointed look, or a shrug. "It's a tough game." 

Kari chuckles at that; he meets Antti's eyes and swallows the lump in his throat. 

"I wouldn't," Kari protests. "Well, not unless you needed to change your tires and needed a kick in the ass."

"You would." Antti claps him on the shoulder. "But I'm glad you haven't."

Kari wonders what the fuck makes him so sure about what Kari would do? He can't read Antti half as sure as that. He goes back to modifying his gear. He knows the equipment guys will do it if he asks, but they're free to use any of the powersaws or anything they feel like. Maybe he needs something new. 

Still, whatever he has with Antti, Kari thinks, he wants to keep it.

The stupid part is, Kari can just ask. He's tried asking in bits in pieces, but the hardest part is figuring out if he wants the answer. They weren't forged with delicate glances and soft touches. There are no niceties to hide behind, only themselves. 

Kari doesn't know if he's enough. They can deal with it after they win. 

And they can after Kari fucking deals with his flat tire. He can't believe his luck. He must have run over a broken bottle or something. He pulls over to the shoulder of the road, takes a deep breath and calms down. 

Does he even have a spare tire? 

Kari opens his door and tries to inspect the damage. Rear wheel, right driver side. He shields his eyes from the sun and debates calling someone to come get him, but no, he thinks. He's on a schedule, and that would take too long. 

While he's deciding, another car approaches, which isn't that unusual, but---Kari _recognizes_ that car. It pulls up in front of him, and Antti lowers the window to laugh and say, "You look like you need help." 

Changing a tire is easier with two people, Kari admits. Even if Antti's smug about, like he didn't have a flat tire himself last week. 

"What, just because I slash your tires doesn't mean you should slash mine," Kari says, prolonging the joke if nothing else. He doesn't expect anything except a small, genuine smile. That would be enough.

"It's an excuse to come to your rescue," Antti replies, wiping his hands off on a rag unearthed from Kari's trunk. 

"The reward's not worth it." Kari checks the tire pressure again. If worst comes to worse, they'll call a tow truck and have Antti drive him to the game. It looks like everyone's clear. 

"You're worth it." Kari looks up, and Antti has this look on his face, and Kari suddenly finds it a little hard to breathe. "Don't do this to yourself. Go fucking win." 

Kari does. 

* * *

Then Kari doesn't. 

They need this next win. They need any win. It's the playoffs, but they especially need this one. For momentum's sake. 

Kari can’t do it; the pressure is too much, like a weight on his shoulders that he can’t see or find. It's the playoffs, and no one has any mercy; they see Kari lose one, and they're done. All he can do is sit in the tunnel and watch. At least he’s not on the bench, not in the middle of watching everyone in action.

He’s not reduced to opening a door, at least. 

Antti wins them the game. Every single one of them knows it. They walk into the room, and Spezza grabs the hat from his stall. They do the speeches right after everyone manages to towel off, but before that, Kari crosses the room. There are fewer things that can save a team than a hot goalie, and Kari knows it. He’s had to shoulder so much blame for not doing it.

“Thank you,” Kari says, barely audible over the din of the locker room. 

“What for?” He even gets a wry smile out of Antti. Kari shouldn't like that, but he does; there's a small feeling bubbling in his stomach. 

Later, he’ll say it was because it’s the playoffs. Because it’s a win. Because that was fucking beautiful goaltending. Because this if there’s any moment where Antti could have said the right thing, this was it. And he did. 

Kari kisses him. Antti rolls with it after a moment of confusion. 

The room goes silent. 

Kari goes a little red when he pulls back. He shouldn’t be, he’s been here longer than any of them. They shouldn’t be doing this to him. He’s not a rookie, and none of them are his roommates to embarrass him. He pulls away, not looking at anyone, all the way back to his own stall where he can be preoccupied with his gear. 

It's reckless, Kari knows. He's not sure if a reporter can walk in, could have walked into that moment. 

“I think we all owe Nemo some fucking drinks,” Jamie says, coughing. Rous even fucking whistles, because of course he does. “But I think Karps has that covered.”

Antti manages to dryly accuse the room, “Cheapskates, all of you.”

Spezza tosses Antti the hat, and as always, he obliges to put the thing on for a minute or two. A round of applause follows. He takes it off before the staff let the reporters in. Some of them manage to catch a picture anyway. 

Patty tells him later that this time's going to be an exception, but he's definitely instigating fines if there's going to be goalie kissing more often. Kari thinks he's smiling through the beard when he says it. The team turns toward other things, like making sure everyone's injuries don't show that much for the next game, so they're too busy to castigate Kari a little more. 

"Are we kissing in the locker room now?" Antti asks, on the way out, waiting for the shuttle to the hotel. A pause. He adds, "I'm not saying I mind." 

He does mind. Kari frowns at the thought of it now--too public, too exposed, too much. "I don't know why I did that." 

"Careful, I might think you actually like me." The corners of Antti's mouth twitch, and Kari takes a breath. 

"Who says I don't?" Kari turns away. Anything Antti would have said is covered by the screech of the shuttle pulling up to the curb. 

* * *

Kari honestly likes Antti, and he wasn't expecting to. That's the hard part, he realizes--and fuck, he's not supposed to like a guy whose success depends on Kari failing. Of course, nothing else they were supposed to do has happened, either. Not this season, where everyone was expecting them to fail--no one thought the Stars would be on top of the division. Everyone was half-expecting Antti and Kari to hate each other, for one of them to take over and the other to seethe. 

It’s a little magical that neither's happened.

When Spezza puts on the song and starts singing along, no one chirps him. Hemmer’s next to him, and he’s trying to hide his crooning. Faksa has no shame, though, and he looks so happy joining in. Patrik's swung an arm around Klinger, and they find the beat. Then the Canadians all come in, and Rous nearly ruins the beat with his terrible, terrible voice.

Kari doesn’t particularly like the Shania Twain, but if it works, it will work. He nudges Antti, who’s resolutely fed up with this nonsense, a serious blank expression on his face-how did they ever get him to do that weird Sharks video? Kari’s going to have to ask Demers-and Kari adds his voice to the cacophony.

Kari starts the first game against St. Louis. The home crowd roars with life. 

Antti starts the second and loses the third. It's the first time he can see Antti start to fray.

It doesn't make Kari any happier. 

"It's your game now," he tells Kari. Antti turns away and closes his eyes for good measure. 

"You never know," Kari says. He shrugs. "You love playing at home." And Antti does--there's a reason that the media joked about there being a home goalie and a road goalie. Kari's hardly played in the AAC this season. 

"No," Antti says, shaking his head. There's a little part of Kari that feels a flare of pride--that they're going with Kari, that he's finally, finally won something over Antti. There's another part of Kari that feels like it's been thrown off a cliff. Antti's "You're going to pull through" hits it home. 

Antti doesn't have to say, "I believe in you," but he does. He looks Kari in the eye when he does, and Kari can feel it resonate in his bones. This is Kari's game. This is Kari's team. Antti's along for the ride. 

It hits Kari that Antti doesn't intend on leaving anytime soon. It's a stupid, stupid hope, what with all the money the Stars are throwing at them, their age, their fucking inconsistency. Despite all that, Kari marvels in it. He doesn't want Antti to leave, either. 

* * *

Kari feels like he can take on the world. The silence of Blues fans validates him. They're playing a team that's healthier, with a hot goalie. Kari has to be just as good to keep up. 

Tonight, he is. They've tied the series. 

"You saved our asses," Sharpy says, and it's barely audible under the roar of the bench. He pats Kari one more time on the shoulder. "Thanks, Karps." 

The rest of the team do much of the same--a hug or a pat or a kiss on Kari's helmet. Jamie's last, as always, and the look in his eyes is enough to say, _it's been a long time coming_ and _this is it, they've made it_. 

They're going back to Dallas. The thought thrums through Kari's body. He can't quite keep still. One more win, Kari thinks, and he can stop thinking he can't make it in the playoffs. He won his first series two weeks ago, by the skin of his teeth. He can do it again. 

There's a nagging doubt that they don't trust him to ride out the last game. It's a big decision to make, he knows. He shouldn't be wandering the hallway at this hour, but he does. He needs to do something. When Kari circles the floor for the third time, a door opens. 

He stops, naturally, to avoid getting hit in the face. Kari takes a step back, trying to fumble an apology, but he gives up halfway. The look on Kari's face must say it all because Antti says, "Get some sleep. You'll need it." 

Kari wants to say, "Maybe not, maybe I can't make it to the end," but he doesn't. He takes a breath, simply saying, "I can't sleep." 

"So you're going to run until you pass out from exhaustion?" Antti asks, crossing his arms. "What good is that?" 

"I," Kari starts, but then he stops. He shakes his head. 

"Either come in or go to your room." Then softer, "Relax," but they both know that's not possible at all. They can only pretend. Hell, probably a third of the team can't sleep. Kari's just the worst at hiding it. 

He feels different going into the last game. Maybe it's because it's at home, in front of so many expectant fans. Maybe it's because Kari knows that everyone's running on the last dregs of energy they can find. 

The first goal against doesn't kill him. It's a game 7; they can make a comeback, it's early yet. After the third goal goes in, Kari steels himself.

Then, he doesn’t hold. It's not only a loss, but a humiliating one. Kari's lost his touch. The final buzzer rings, and the next thing he knows, he's sitting in his stall, still soaked with the sweat of a man whose best wasn't good enough. 

"Kari," he hears, and then someone throws a bag at him. Kari catches it and sees that it's his bag, and he starts the long process of washing the game away. 

Antti takes him home. 

Kari looks over to the driver’s seat, at Antti intently focusing on the road, catching him glancing over at Kari during lulls in traffic with an inexplicably fond and weary expression. He wonders when did that happen. He wonders why it isn’t surprising at all.

“You missed the turn,” Kari notes, with no inflection. There are no rules, no rhyme or reason except that everything better _with_ him than without him. Kari doesn't feel like talking anymore. There's really no reason at all to find any more. He's lost, again. He's lost this chance. Kari had thought it was their year. Everything else seemed to fall into place by the end. 

Even Antti and his Timer. 

"We're here." Kari looks up, but he doesn't move. He unbuckles his belt--he can manages that, at least. Antti opens the door for him a moment later. 

"I'm not carrying you," and that's fair. Kari never expected him to. He's never done that during the season. Kari takes another deep breath, swallows the feeling in his throat. He rubs the feeling of his playoff beard into his memory. He gets up and follows Antti inside. 

Antti hands him a glass of water, which he swallows, leaving a dry metallic taste in his throat. He moves, prompted, and Kari looks at himself in the mirror, feeling hollow. Antti hands him a razor, which Kari just stares at, the handle feeling so flimsy for a thing that can erase so much work. 

Kari puts the razor down. He looks over his shoulder.

"I'm not leaving," Antti says. "You're stuck with me."

Kari chokes down a bitter laugh. He doesn't know where he finds the, "Why?" from, but it cracks the air between them. He's not good enough for anything, is he? He can't even promise they'll both be here next season.

They share a long silence. Kari brings himself to look at Antti, to face him. Antti doesn't have all the damn answers, no matter how much he wants to say something. They both know that. 

Kari moves, eventually landing on his bed. He throws off the sheets, a meaningless tantrum. Antti turns off the light or at least Kari thinks he does, since they go off. There's nothing else Kari can do but lie down, try to breathe. He even tries counting sheep. It doesn't help Kari sleep at all. He turns away, looks up at the ceiling. There's nothing but the faint glow of two Timers in the dark. 

There's a creak. The bed dips. Kari feels a brush of fingertips at his temple, brushing away the hair from his forehead. There's a press of lips to his neck, too soft, almost like Kari's imagined it. 

It's answer enough. Or at least half an answer, which is all that Kari deserves.

Kari twists. There aren't any words, not for this. Kari makes a fist in Antti's shirt, and he doesn't complain. Kari lets go of the wrinkled fabric, moves his hand over his chest, the subtle pumping of his heart underneath. Antti covers it with his own.

"You know," Kari starts, the other half of the thought hanging in the air. Antti grips his hand tighter. They do. 

"Go the fuck to sleep," Antti murmurs. For once, Kari takes his advice, and he doesn't let go or turn away. 

Antti's still there in the morning, which Kari didn't know he was expecting. Antti's dressed, washed, newly-shaved, and all it serves is to make Kari aware of how disgusting he feels, the malaise of the loss and the unkempt, unwashed feeling weighing on him. To add further insult, Antti's drinking coffee out of one of Kari's favorite mugs. 

"Are you done wallowing?" Antti asks. "I gave you last night, but no more." 

Kari frowns. "What for?" 

"Are you giving up already?" he says, narrowing his eyes. "It's not over until we say it is." Kari's not sure if he's talking about hockey or life or _them_ or all three, but he nods. This time, when Antti hands him the razor, Kari doesn't reject it. He can feel Antti's gaze on the line of his throat as he hacks away at his beard.

When he's done, Kari looks at himself in the mirror, looking like the season's barely touched him. His body says a different thing, all bruises and aches and bone-deep hurts. He looks to Antti, who nods and says, "Good." He runs his fingertips along the edge of Kari's jaw for a moment. 

It's time to start anew. 

Kari steals his mug from Antti, who lets him take it, takes a swig of the bitter coffee with just enough sugar, no creamer, just hot enough to drink comfortably. He pauses. A stray thought wanders in--he could kiss Antti for this. And, likely, Antti wouldn't mind. 

Antti doesn't say anything, so Kari has to break the silence. "Breakfast?" 

"I'll take you out," he says, and Kari finds a smile. 

Antti’s right. It's not over. It's only just begun. Kari watches his One rifle through the room, looking for his car keys--and even if Kari still doesn't know what being someone's One means--he has an idea.


End file.
